Hello Old Friend

New York. What is it about you?!  I'm having the most glorious day off today. I worked my hind end off at work all weekend, so I didn't feel too guilty about sleeping for ten (or twelve) hours last night. Then I woke up, brewed myself some english breakfast tea in my Keurig (best Christmas gift ever) Added some fresh organic locally grown lemon to my authentic Top Pot (from Seattle) mug, and sat down to watch part of the SNL 40 special from last night while I finished waking up. And then I cried. Because there was a montage about the greatness of New York City set to the tune of Alicia Keys. And it floored me. Because I miss it so much. And I kind of don't understand. I mean, I get it because it really is the greatest city in the world. I just wonder when the pull will loose it's strength. When the compulsion to go will weaken. It's still as strong as it was the very first time I set foot in the city --a bright-eyed and oh so naive early twenty-something year old. Or rather, the first time I got home from the week I spent there. It was literally like part of my soul was missing. I clung with tears to every clip shown of the city on every minuscule commercial, the yearning was almost overwhelming. I had to go back. And go back I did. And I lived there. And I vacationed there. And I lived there. And it was HARD. And I hated it. And I've never loved anything more. And it was over for a while. Or so I thought. I thought I was done with this obsession. Not that I didn't love it, I just thought I had played it out, ya know? But it's not so. There is something that just calls to me. Still. It's deep  and it's real. Maybe it's time to go back? I don't know.  But I do know that I will never be done with New York. I can't imagine ever visiting and saying, "Ok. I've done this, I don't need to come back." I can't imagine ever bidding farewell and saying thanks for the good times, never to return. I. Just. Can't. Say. Goodbye. I don't want to. I've been a lot of places and seen a lot of amazing things. And for the most part I dislike going on vacation to somewhere I've already been. Each place I go, I like to do it so well that I'm done. I can cross it off my list. On to the next new adventure. Greece was that way. It was the trip of a lifetime, but now it's done. I've been there. I don't need to go back. New York is the singular exception to this rule. I. Will. Never. Be. Done. With. You. Any of it. I will never be done with the smell and the garbage and the rats and the dirty underbelly. I will never be done with the way the sunlight filters down through the skyscrapers of possibility, and the endless hope and possibility that glitters through the ambition and drive and pulse of the buildings and the powerhouses within them. I will never be done with the rush of the subway and the strength of the people passing by. I will never be done with balconies overlooking the Hudson at sunset and the horizon across the rooftop at dawn. I will never be done with the raw realism, the superfluous shredding of all things facade, and the hard as stone truth that lies beneath. I will never be done with you New York. And I don't know why. No thing worth having comes easy. No transformation for the better is not in-part painful. And I wouldn't trade it for anything. I don't even try to shake the continual drive to go back. For a week at a time, or for a year at a time. Who knows. You crawled inside me so long ago and I can no longer tell which parts of me aren't you. So even as I leave these ramblings of my mind to go for my sunset jog on the warm sun-drenched beaches of LA, you are with me. I love my life here too, don't mistake my love for New York as a dislike of the beauty that is my west coast life too... A friend once told me, "For the love of God! Just pick a coast!" Haha! But... just... what is it about you?!

The Greatest to Have Ever Done It

I sat in the break room of the tiny 22-bed emergency department in Berkeley, California; 2,906 miles down the road (at the other end of the freeway) from where my heart and soul were. Leftover lemon chicken and pineapple fried rice sat cooling in front of me as I stared at my phone with tears streaming down my face. It was over. Derek Jeter's final game in Yankee Stadium. Derek Jeter had played his last game as shortstop for the New York Yankees. And there were pictures and video clips of him taking the field for the final time, crouching in the position that's been his for the past twenty years. Of the double from his first at bat, the go-ahead run he was responsible for in the 8th, the walk-off single to end the game, and of Andy Pettitte, Jorge Posada, and Joe Torre being in the dugout to close it out. And I just cried. It could not have been more perfect. It was like it was scripted. God is most assuredly a Yankee fan.

I have been in love with Derek Jeter since the summer I turned fourteen years old. There are SO many memories. The flip, the dive, the Mr. November homerun, the championships, the speaches, the milestones. But it's more than that. It's more than the combined sum of the pieces of history I've witnessed in person and via the media. Sure it's pretty great that the first pitch of a Major League Baseball game I ever saw live was hit by Derek Jeter over the left field fence at McAfee Coliseum in Oakland, CA. It's great that the last game that I saw at the old Yankee Stadium was the last Yankee-RedSox game to be played there. It's great that I saw a game at the new stadium this year and pondered that he still looks the exact same as the first game I saw on TV as a 14 year-old girl. Seriously, look it up. The jump-throw, the stance, every single nuance. Even today. Did you see the photo of him jumping in the air after the walk-off single? Tell me that he looks different than the photo of him jumping in celebration at the end of the 1996 world series. He doesn't. The photos are interchangeable. But I've learned more from Derek Jeter than the way baseball should be played. It's more than his talent and the intangibles and the off-the-field professionalism. It's how to live a life.

The first couple years of college I read the book he wrote in 2001, The Life You Imagine: Life Lessons For Achieving Your Dreams. And it changed my life. Seriously. It's on the short list of three books that have changed my life. And I've read a LOT of books. From this book I got the quote that is still at the bottom of my email signature to this day: "Dreams become realities when you love what you do." From this book I learned, as Derek Jeter's father told him, there will most always be someone better than you, but there is NEVER an excuse for someone to work harder than you. I learned that the way you do everything you do is important. He talks about how he didn't care if he was a garbage man, a plumber, or a tv repair man he would want to be the best there was at that position. He spoke of the things he learned from watching a cable repairman at his house as a young boy. He had no aspirations to be such, but he learned the value of hard work and the desire to be the best at whatever he was doing. He talks about how that man made him a better baseball player, just by being the best at what he was. You can learn something from every person you come across in life. Don't be too good to learn something from someone in a different station of life than you. I expect a lot. Of people, of things, of situations. It causes a lot of angst at times, because expectations can ruin an experience if you're not in control of the outcome. But I wouldn't have it any other way. I think this is part of why I'm such a big Yankee fan to be honest. They don't only demand perfection, they expect it. They expect to win the world series every year, and as Derek Jeter has said repeatedly in this book and elsewhere, if we didn't win the world series, the season was a failure. Why would you want to be ok with second place? Why would you want to be ok with pretty good? Perfection. Don't ever let yourself settle for decent. Don't ever aim for having a wining season, or making it to the playoffs or even making it to the world series. If you're going to aim for something, set a goal to win the world series. If that's not your goal every single year, get out of the game. Sure you can have a good season and not win the world series, but having a good season and having a failed season are not mutually exclusive. Derek Jeter expects to get a hit every single time he's at the plate. Every time. In a game where you can fail to get a hit 70% of the time and still be among the elite, many wonder why you'd expect to get a hit every time you're at the plate. Well, if you don't expect to get a hit every time you're at the plate, you might as well stay in the dugout and tell them to skip your turn. You know it's not going to happen every time, but that doesn't mean that you expect yourself to fail. Do you see the difference? He talks about how he wants the ball hit to him every single play. He wants to be the one at bat with the game on the line every single time. If you don't want the ball hit to you every play, why are you on the field? If you don't want the chance to be the hero at the plate with the game on the line, why are you playing the game? The big moments are why you play the game. Don't shy away from, don't take them as they come, seek them out, hope for them, expect them to be yours.

*editing note* Just watched the post-game interview ... did you see it?!  In the entire career of Derek Jeter I have not seen him cry once. And I haven't missed a moment of Derek Jeter's career. He teared up several times during the game, and welled up during the post-game interview. He was talking about feeling sentimental for the first time in his career when they took the field in the first inning. And then his voice cracked as he told how he heard the fans chanting "Thank you Derek" and he thought "What are you thanking me for? I was just doing my job. It's the fans that have made this amazing." I love this man. And yes, I'm crying again.

Don't bother setting a goal if it's not to be the best, go the farthest, do the most. And if you fail once, set the goal again next go-round. Don't accept less than perfection because of previous failures. Pick yourself up, work your hardest all over again, and aim for perfection every time. Don't ever set a goal to be okay at something. To be mediocre. Don't set a goal to just make it through your shift. Set a goal to change someone's life. He talked about the pressure of being Derek Jeter and that he played every moment of every game so that no one could say he didn't try hard enough. He spoke of how he wanted people who came to the stadium to see him play be able to say --even if he didn't get a single hit that day-- "but did you see the way he ran the grounder to the seond-baseman out?" He didn't want to not give 100% at any single second.  I read this book so many times that chunks of pages are falling out. The corners are all dog-eared, and the highlight marks and margin notes are fading. I read the book for motivation repeatedly to get me through a very trying nursing program when I felt like I was drowning every day and didn't know if I had what it took to make it through --to keep me motivated not to just get through but to be the best. And most days making it through felt iffy. That didn't mean the goal was not perfection though. It was never my goal to just make it through. Making it through was TOUGH but I wanted to make it through and be the best. As I was on stage at graduation receiving the award for expert clinician (the only one of my entire graduating class) I literally though of this book, and the ways that it helped me reach this point. I read the book several more times as I was becoming a new nurse and then a new nurse in the emergency department --fulfilling my dream. I was the best CNA and LPN and RN I could be every day, and no one worked harder than I did every day. And when I need a bit of motivation still to this day, I remember the lessons I read repeatedly in the beginning of my career -the lessons I learned while I was achieving my dreams. Derek Jeter made me a better nurse. Which sounds crazy unless you get it. Seriously. Read the book people. If I don't expect to get each IV on each attempt -every time- I have no business being in that room. (see end of last paragraph)

And so I cry. I cry because Derek Jeter happened. And it was amazing. The whole career. I cry because it's ending. And I cry because there will never be another baseball player to match what Derek Jeter is and has been for the last twenty years. 

Because Frank always says it best and there could not be a song more fitted to Derek Jeter...

And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and ev'ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way

I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
"Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way"

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way! (My Way lyrics -Frank Sinatra)

Farewell, Captain. You'll be missed.

The Greatest City in the World

I'm sitting here slathered in menthol, drinking my tea, and watching last night's Project Runway bemoaning the fact that I have to go to work in a couple hours. I really wish I worked in a career that it was acceptable to call in sick when you're sick. But, I digress. The designers each went to a different European city for inspiration and fabric. I watched the scenes play out in Barcelona, Berlin, London, and Paris. Then they came back to the designer left in New York City, and I as they showed the skyline I realized that I'd rather be there than at any of the other placed they showed. Sure I'd like to go to all of those cities in Europe, and it would be amazing to see all the history. And I will go someday, and it will be incredible, and I will love it. And I loved my time in Greece and wouldn't trade it for anything. But there's something about you, New York. You will always hold my soul, no place will ever compare, you truly are the greatest city in the world. What is it about you?! Sigh.  That got me thinking. Living on my own in New York and discovering myself and becoming myself... Living in New York is my single most proud accomplishment of my first thirty years. There truly are no words. I can try, and I have, but ultimately the experience was mine alone and always will be. It simply has to be lived.  But I was reminded of another list of 30 things you should know by 30 that I found on glo by MSN the other night at work.  Enjoy!

30 Things You Should Know By 30

1.  That when he doesn't call back, it's not because he didn't get the message.

2.  That there's a difference between love and lust.

3.  That sometimes sleeping in and sleeping alone is the ultimate luxury.

4.  How to strike up a conversation with a handsome stranger.

5.  How to get ready to go out in less than 20 minutes.

6.  That the dishes can wait, but not forever.

7.  That time really does move faster as you get older.

8.  How to prepare at least one dish that doesn't require a microwave.

9.  How to dine out --and truly enjoy it.

10.  How to change your oil.

11.  How to life without a credit card.

12.  How to ask for a raise.

13.  How to respond when you don't get one.

14.  How to make the most of your vacation days.

15.  How to sign up for a cell phone/data pkg/buy a car without getting fleeced.

16.  What a retirement plan is and how to make sure you're setting aside enough.

17.  Your drink of choice.

18.  Your alcohol limit.

19.  That sometimes nothing feels as good as getting carded.

20.  How to tell a good non-dirty joke -you never know when you'll need a good ice breaker.

21.  That a good friend will forgive you if you forget her birthday.

22.  How to put someone else first.

23.  How to agree and disagree -and really mean it.

24.  That your family baggage is to heavy to keep carrying around.

25.  That staying out of the sun really is the best anti-aging advice.

26.  That certain fashion trends aren't worth trying. Ever.

27.  That you're either a person who can wear bangs, or you're not.

28.  That making timelines for your life is generally a waste of time.

29.  That changing your mind doesn't mean you're inconsistent -it just means you're smart enough to know that our views and opinions evolve.

30.  That someone will always be prettier or younger or smarter or more successful. But no one else will ever be quite the same combination of those things that you are.

Now, to save myself the time and finger exercise of saying it after each one... So true!!!!

Oh What A Night!!

My toes were painted, my legs were shaved. I was in a fun flirty dress.  My hair was sleek, shiny, and curled to perfection. My lips were a luscious red --my new fave from NARS-- And I was all set. Tonight I took myself out for a lil' night on the town. One of the few remaining things on my list of things I needed to do while in NY was to see Jersey Boys on Broadway. Really it's tragic that I hadn't. I left my car with the valet and headed to the 5th Ave Theater. I was sitting in a lounge on a mezzanine and people watching until it was time to go in. Seattle. Oh Seattle I am so disappointed. This is Broadway. Do not wear your ratty jeans and t-shirts. Do not wear your floral stretchy pants and cat sweatshirts. Please comb your hair and brush your teeth. You don't need to wear heels, or luscious red lipstick, or even a dress, but come ON! Pajama pants and falling apart tennis shoes. Never wear worn out stretchy pants. Anyone --and if you're 300lbs, they can't NOT be stretched out. Sigh. I had finally had enough, and muttered "Oh my hell. I miss New York." Apparently out loud, as I got strange side-ward glances from the couple next to me on the couch. I rolled my eyes, got up (said 'Good Lord' in my head in a snooty British accent) and went to my seat where the only thing I could see in front of me was the stage. It's hard to mock a stage.

On a different note, do you do things by yourself?  Dinner? Movie? Theater? Museums? If not you're really missing out. Let me list a few things about just tonight that were so fabulous. I didn't have to worry about who was coming and who didn't want to go, who felt left out, who was carpooling, who was driving whom etc. I didn't have to worry about who wants to have dinner here before the show, and who wants to have drinks there after. I didn't have to sit in my seat wondering if anyone else was having a good time. You get to do exactly what you want, when you want to do it, and you just get to sit and enjoy. I quite literally grinned the entire show. I danced in my chair, I sang along -in my head this time. When it was over I danced to the valet who retrieved my car and gave me a good-game tap and a wink as I got in, and I sang my heart out to whatever I wanted to listen to on the radio all the way home. I love me some me time!!!!!

PS -this is the unedited and unfiltered version of this photo ...I'm quite in love with it :)

photo via

This Thing Called Sandy

I wrote on Facebook earlier that if I had a therapist I imagine we'd spend some time discussing the fact that Sandy is making my missing of NYC much worse.  Immediately after posting it I considered deleting it. But it was authentic at the time, so I left it. I think a therapist could seriously do me some good. I've even done the research and have one picked out to try first. I'm just too chicken to actually make the call. That's beside the point. It's not unreasonable to wish that I was in NYC for this particular epic moment. I miss New York nearly all the time. But it's the spirit of myf riends and neighbors that is making the yearning worse today. There is nothing I'd love more that holing up in my 15th floor pre-war apartment watching the storm outside my window overlooking the Hudson. I'd revel in the spirit of strength and defience and community that is I'm sure abounding. I'd even love the adventure that I'm sure would be getting from my humble abode on West 34th St to St. Lukes on 113th and Amsterdam.  It's something that can't be quantified for those who have never experienced this particular NYC magic.

Also, DC... this photo is from my favorite place in Washington. May God bless and watch over these honorable men now and always.

 

 

With all this missing of and longing to be in the East Coast --even and especially in these terrible conditions-- I think it's excellent that this week's wellness focus is on nourishment. I'm in need of nourishing, and I can't wait!! I have a little something in the works for tomorrow. Stay tuned...

New York Revisited

Subtitle: A post about contradictions ...a glimpse into my messy mind... A LONG post.

I've been thinking since I got home. Thinking about how to quantify what New York is to me. How to put it in words. I don't know. New York was me, it is me. It transformed what I am, who I am. From the first moment I stepped into the city on vacation six short years ago. There aren't really words for what I felt. I was fixed, I was transformed. Something changed, something clicked on that I didn't know existed. I didn't realize it had clicked on for a while either. The weeks after we got home were a new experience for me. All of a sudden New York was everywhere. It was on commercials, tv shows, movies. It was in posters and in books. And I felt the most strange longing sort of ache in my gut that I had never felt before in my life. I missed it instantly. I missed it every day. A part of me knew that I was meant for that place. I'd be back. Six months after we returned from my inaugural trip I graduated with my second college degree. Eight months after that I was packing my bags and saying tearful goodbyes to family and friends as I prepared to leave the only life I'd ever known for a land three thousand miles away from the nearest thing or person I knew. It wasn't a conscious decision I made; it wasn't a thought of, 'I loved that place when I was on vacation, I should go back, I must live there.' It was more magnetic than that. Almost as though there was no conscious thought on my part. It was what it was. Every time I saw a plane fly overhead I yearned to be on it, bound for wherever it was going. I loved my home, I loved my family. There are no words for how much I loved them, and that's only gotten stronger now. I love and miss them more than I can say. But I was destined for adventure. I craved it with every fiber of my being. So when I decided to enter the world of travel nursing, New York was of course where I would go. There was no other option. Being new in the travelling aspect of nursing, the closest I could get was a hospital in Patchogue, NY on Long Island.

So, early that morning my sister, my car, and all my belongings set off on a very long drive. The first few hours were filled with hysterical sobs, terrifying fear of the unknown, and the terrible terrible ache of loneliness I already felt from leaving my parents. My sister was my only lifeline. My only saving grace. And she would be leaving me three days after I got settled in my new apartment on the east coast. But I had her for then, and that meant the world to me.

While living in Patchogue, I spent every spare moment I had in the City. I took the Long Island Rail Road in every chance I got. Each time we'd approach the city and the skyline would come into view chills went up and down my spine and an exhilarated smile crept onto my face like a reflex. I was completely giddy. Every time. Not one ounce of it faded the entire three months I lived there. I remember the last time leaving the city to go back to Patchogue to drive back to the west coast and on to my next assignment. My friend Danielle had flown out with me, and I just stood on the train, facing backward, a steady stream of tears running down my cheeks as I watched my skyline fade from view. There was a conscious knowledge this time that I wasn't done. That I'd be back.

Fast forward through two travel assignments, and my sister is with me again in Seattle as all my belongings are packed, and I'm saying tearful goodbyes to my friends that felt like life-long friends already. We headed east on the drive home and I cried again. There was only one time in my entire life that I've ever cried that hard (and I've done a LOT of crying), that was when I left home that first time. My poor sister had experience with my racking sobs this time. This time as we drove away, I felt my heart being ripped out of my chest. It had stayed in Seattle, and eventually when the strings to my heart broke, they elasticized back to the heart that owned them in the city of it's possession. They got mangled and bruised and bloody from the trauma. Falling in love messed me up. It broke me. But I knew that I was making the right decision. Although nothing in my life had ever been so painful. Even now as I write the memories, tears well up in my eyes and stream down my cheeks. The pain is still there, although fleeting and numbed over time. As we drove away though, there was a deep black empty aching throbbing hole in the center of my chest that I didn't know what to do with. So I filled it with cement, heavy and secure, determined to ignore it until it went away.

As my plane landed at Kennedy International Airport, the giddy feeling I had left behind on that LIRR train a year ago found me. I grinned the entire way into the city, all the way to my pre-war building apartment on West 34th Street. I had arrived. I was in the big city, and it was mine to conquer. I delved into life as a New Yorker and loved it with all my might. I saw it all, I did everything I wanted to do, and more things I hadn't realized before. I loved it until I didn't. It was all very strange. This was where I belonged after all. This was my mecca. This was my life. And yet, as I hugged my mom goodbye after a visit she had come for, I sobbed and heard myself say, "I hate it here!"  I hadn't realized it until that moment. And I still don't know that I hated it there, but I hated something about my life. I was miserable. I was homesick for Seattle. Homesickness was an interesting feeling for me, as I had not experienced it before. Ever. I miss my family, and I miss my home, sure. But I had never been homesick. Somehow while I was living my dream, I realized that Seattle had become my home.

When my contract ended at St. Luke's everything fell into place for me to go back to the hospital I work at now. Despite my best efforts to land in Florida.  It wasn't meant to be. I came back to Seattle, and it's stuck. I'm not sure why. I lament the fact that no hospital is as good as St. Luke's, no one does things as efficiently. I have moments that sometimes last for days when I miss New York like you'd miss breathing. I'm miserable here too at times. But that's life I think. I'm also blissfully happy here at times. When I was in New York, I was without a heart. Now that I'm in Seattle, I'm without my soul. It remains in New York. The very heart of who I am will always be there perhaps. But my heart is here, as am I. For the last three years. Three years I've been here, and finally a week ago I went back to visit my soul in what is still my favorite place on earth.

My plane landed at Kennedy International Airport. I met my former college roommates (as well as a hockey player who needed to use my phone... In retrospect, I should have investigated that further. It might not have ended so boring-ly) and we loaded into the shuttle that would take us into Manhattan where we were to celebrate Jill's birthday.  This time as we approached the city, there was no giddiness. What was there was the calm, quiet, supremely confident spirit of a New Yorker that I hadn't met in a while. There was an involuntary half-smile, but this time it was because I missed the way New Yorkers drove. We approached the city and the skyline came into view as Jay-Z's Empire State of Mind came on the radio. It was very poetic, and yet... different. The things that used to bring my such giddy excitement had become common place. I was relieved to be back, don't get me wrong. I could breathe easier, and I noticed that even standing in the baggage line my entire posture shifted to my New York self. But the things that made me blissfully happy to be back are not the touristy things. It was the thought of food in the East Village. It was the prospect of a quiet stroll through Greenwich Village, brunch in Chelsea. It was the very LIVING there that I missed. It was the food trucks, the smell of the subway, the veer of a taxi-cab, the pulse of the city that gets inside you. It transforms who you are.  And when I left, I left. It wasn't good or bad ...it just was. It was weird. I'm not sure what to make of it. Did I enjoy my time there? Without a doubt. Will I go back? Absolutely, as soon as possible. Do I still love it there? A resounding yes. But it's no longer what it once was. I don't know how it changed, or why, or what it has become to me now, I still love it every bit as much as before, perhaps more-so. And yet, I could leave.

Now, here I sit trying to quantify my feelings. I'm watching RENT and eating spekuloos with a spoon, creating my own NYC in my living room. It is still my favorite place in the world. I don't want to live there again. I don't know that I want to live here in Seattle anymore. Maybe it's that unrest that has me feeling out of sorts. I don't know what my next adventure will be. What of myself will I leave there? Or perhaps, what of myself will I find there? I can't make sense of the mountain of feelings I have right now, so I'm just sitting with them; just feeling them. They'll make sense of themselves in due time. What I will leave you with though is pictures of the two things I had never done before that we did on this most recent trip. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge (or at least halfway ...at least I did... it was really cold and windy, but I was determined to do it) and we took pictures by the raging bull on Wall St. (which is not actually on Wall St., it's on Broadway about a block and a half south of Wall ...just in case you were wondering).

Oh... one more fleeting thing... When I last left New York, ground zero was still a giant hole in the ground surrounded by construction vehicles. Over the last three years, they have actually completed the 9/11 monument, and it's amazing.

Which reminds me. Also, last time I left New York, the new Yankee Stadium was nearing completion, and the old one still stood in all it's grandeur. The last time I was on that hallowed ground was for the last Yankee-redsox game played in the old stadium. Where that stadium once stood is now a public park. And the new building is immaculate and amazing.

Oh!!!  And one more thing I had never done before. I went to Staten Island!  Jill's sister had never been before and of course wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. So on our last night there we took the Staten Island Ferry. (for those of you keeping track ...this means I have still not been to Ellis Island)

And... just so you know, some things never change. (and really, if you're still reading this at this point, you deserve more pictures, just for a break ;) )

The most important thing that never changes is good friends. I love you Jill and hope you had the most wonderful of wonderful birthdays. Thank you for bringing me back here, and most of all, thank you for being one of the best friends I've ever had, and one of the greatest people I've ever known!

Yearning

Today is a wistful day. I find myself yearning for New York more than normal today. A vacation is definitely long overdue, perhaps I'll need to make it sooner than anticipated. I yearn for every second of New York. I long for the magic of the theater, the bustle of the streets, the quiet rumble of the subway, the rushed hurry, the palpable pulse in the air and in the ground. I miss the serenity of the park, the splendor of the buildings. I miss the brownstones and tree lined streets. I miss the Macys. I miss the people. I miss my 15th floor pre-war apartment building with the character, walls, and doors that speak of an era gone by. I miss my river view. I miss the way it rains in New York. I miss the way the clouds come so close to the buildings that the skyline is shadowed on them, casting an eerie and yet comforting flow around the city. I miss the breeze, I miss wearing scarfs and pea coats. I miss the humid heat, I miss carrying a big bag with my life and a change of shoes in it. I miss the trauma of the Bronx and Harlem. I miss the sirens, I miss the horns, I miss the people. I miss the smell of the hot dog stands and the bagels. I miss the fresh fruit stands. What I wouldn't give for a chicken salad sandwich on a roll with lettuce and tomatoes from Hamilton's Deli. I miss the quaint book stores and shops. In my mind I'm again sitting over lunch on a sidewalk cafe with friends. I'm at an outdoor jazz festival at Lincoln Center There is nothing New York that I'm not craving today.

The first time I went to NYC I was hooked. There is something truly magical about the city that was instantly under my skin and a part of me. For months and years after returning from my week long vacation I would see clips or scenes of movies/tv shows/commercials on tv and I had a literal pulling deep in my gut. New York was calling me, reaching for me, beckoning me. When I moved there, sure I was nervous of the unknown at first, but mostly I just felt at home. I left when the time was right for me and I knew it. I never could have made the break if it wasn't so. And since I've left I've had a constant ache for the city. Most days it's a dull roar in the background. Days like today it's as blunt and as in the forefront as my initial withdrawal. Sigh. So a vacation is due. Until I make it back, New York I miss you, and I dream of you day and night. Seattle still has my heart, and I learned long ago that I follow my heart, but my soul will always be in New York.

Ah, the power of email...

It's always amusing to me to browse through my junk-mail folder of my email every once in a while. It makes me giggle at memories and remember fun times past. You know, when you get emails from companies or places that you've visited, or more accurately from their websites that you've purchased part of your vacation through. I still get emails from the Anaheim Convention Center, Disneyland, hotel chains in Florida and Southern California, basketball arenas and concert venues across the country. Today I opened one that hit a sentimental spot of mine I've been dealing with lately. It was from a horror house. A haunted horror house. It wasn't so much the actual venue of Blood Manor ...although it was amazing and spectacular. It was the memories of the people and the location that hit the tough spot. I learned long ago that I left my heart in Seattle. The problem is, that I've left my soul in Manhattan. And my mind is definitely somewhere else entirely. I have been seriously craving New York City recently. I miss it like you'd miss breathing. I miss it always, I love Manhattan in all it's seasons, each has it's own magic. But there is no place in the world like Manhattan in the fall. There is an absolutely indescribable feeling that descends on the city come Labor Day. I miss it. I miss everything about it.

It's killing me to not be HERE this October

My soul is here.

Can you blame me?

I miss these people.

I miss this place.

The thing is, when I was here amongst all the fall colored crisp breeze scarf and pea-coat wearing glory and glamor, I was homesick. You've heard that home is where your heart is? Well, when I was in the most amazing and wonderful city in the world (it will always be so) I realized that Seattle felt like home. It was where my heart was and where I would return to some day. So when I was in NYC I yearned for this:

And now I'm in 'this' and I am having quite the identity crisis. Because as I said, my heart is in Seattle, My soul is in Manhattan, and my mind is here:

With this little guy. Again, can you blame me?! Sigh. What's a girl to do? How about vacation somewhere new and fabulous?!!! Good idea, no? I'll keep you posted! :)

Switching Gears

In my travels I've had the opportunity to meet many wonderful and amazing people. One of my all time favorites is a friend named Graham, pictured above at my farewell to NYC party. Graham Walker, ER resident extraordinaire ;) He was a 2nd year intern at St. Luke's in Manhattan where I worked two summer's/fall ago. Amazing person, amazing friend, amazing physician. And extremely great with words. You can follow his words blogs and general information here, here, or here. Oh, and did I mention, he's brilliant? In particular today I am reminiscing about a 'note' he wrote and published to his Facebook account almost 2 years ago today. It was entitled 'Reboot' and you can find the link here. The words are as follows.

"I'm always amazed at how much the ED can just keep going after some code or major trauma or absolute train wreck. Not just at how we physicians can mentally re-orient ourselves: 'Current task over, return to other patients now,' but the entire department. The housekeepers keep housekeeping, the nurses keep nursing, the techs keep teching; the controlled chaos returns after a sudden eruption of hell breaking loose.

"This is especially true and eerie after a death. Someone utters, 'Time of death eleven thirty-seven,' and it's like you've just rebooted our minds. We return from whence we came, doing what we did before, but now maybe a little sadder, a little more downtrodden, and a lot more behind. We whisper something to ourselves, pausing for a few seconds to grieve, and keep moving. Try to save the next one.

"A couple hours later, the body has been packaged and removed and the room is completely cleaned. Fresh. A new patient sits in the gurney, dangling his legs off the edge of the bed, wondering when he's going to be seen. He has no idea what just went on two hours ago in the exact same place. You briefly make eye contact as you walk past the room. Ignorance is bliss.

"The room is back to how it always is, with nothing left but your memories of what just happened. How you broke the poor woman's ribs at 100 beats per minute. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. How you stuck sharp things in her mottled, edematous frame. How before all this, you stuck the tube in her throat and figured things would start turning around once you controlled that airway. And then an hour later, how you ran through your differential one more time, everyone straining their brains as if there's some obvious procedure or drug or incantation you must just be forgetting that instantly resurrects the dead:
What?
Am?
I?
Missing?
You sigh. And then you call it.
'Time of death, eleven thirty-seven'
Reboot"

I love this. There are many things that you just have to experience to truly understand. The way that the workers in the ER are like the closest of close-knit families. But I think that even if you don't really get the 'reboot' post in the same way us ER peeps might, you get the gist. Last night at work after coding a patient intermittently for 2 hours and starting him on every drip known to man, the code was called. The doppler had been used to attempt to hear any discernible traces of remaining pulses in the soon-to-be deceased man. The ultrasound is brought in to confirm that there are no remaining traces of cardiac activity. The code is called. Reboot. New patients are waiting. As are those that were waiting while we were breaking ribs and drawing blood and pushing fluids and medications.

So I went to see my new patients. Medications were ordered on a patient 18 weeks pregnant who had urticaria of pregnancy. As were fetal heart tones. I grabbed the doppler, taking a moment to appreciate the irony of what the machine was last used for. I wheeled it into the room, gooped on the cold cold jelly and placed the doppler to the patients pregnant abdomen and heard a solid rapid thump thump thump thump thump. Humming along at a healthy 148 beats per minute. I left it there several moments longer than necessary. I love listening to fetal heart tones. I just think it's amazing. To hear a happy healthy baby's heartbeat while it is in an innocent blissful place doing nothing but growing fat and happy to make it's debut into the world. And it was especially reassuring at that moment. The circle of life and all that. The very machine I had used not ten minutes earlier to confirm the death of one man, was at that moment confirming the healthy fetal life of another. Reboot indeed. Life goes on. I have the greatest job in the entire world!

It's the Little Things

It's funny how the little things in life can dramatically change your daily actions and attitudes. I've been thinking about two things in particular a lot lately. One day last fall I was walking to work in the busy upper west side of Manhattan. I had just gotten off the 1 train at 110th St. and was rounding the corner to get to Amsterdam St. It was a bit chilly and I was in a hurry a) to get out of the cold and b) if I hurried I would have time to stop at Starbucks before going in to work. In my hurry I walked past a man leaning against the front porch railing of an apartment complex. As is standard when walking past NYC's 8 million people every day, I didn't particularly notice. My gaze stayed straight focused on where I was going. As I passed I heard him say, "Put your head up darlin', that's too pretty a face to be looking at the ground. It's not going anywhere." Now those of you familiar with New York City will understand why this hit me by surprise. People don't talk to people in the sidewalks of New York. You don't notice other people there. Everyone is focused on getting where they have to go and on what they have to do when they get there. Even if you do notice them, you don't start random conversations with people. It's just the way things are there. If you try, you'd be likely to be told to mind your own business. I kept walking without breaking pace, but my mind did a double take. I think I may have even tossed a bewildered glance back and said thank you.

Since then I have taken an obsessive notice about how many people walk with their head angled toward the ground. For a long time I made a concerted effort to walk with my head up looking straight ahead. It was a little strange at first, but now I don't think about it at all, I just do it. But 99% of the people that you see walking down the streets or in the stores or in the park ...yada yada ...look at the ground. And it bothers me. Start paying attention, I think you'll be surprised. Watch yourself. Try it for a whole day. Keep your chin parallel to the ground and keep your gaze straight ahead. Don't even gaze downward. You'll be surprised at how different the world looks. And you'll notice how NO ONE else does it. It also changes your attitude. It makes you more confident and more positive. Just something I've been thinking about lately. Just a simple random comment from a man on the street that changed my posture and outlook on life. Permanently.

Also, apologies. I'm a very forgiving person. Many may say that I am in fact too forgiving. I may just be, but that's not the point. I recently received a very unexpected apology from one of my best friends. I'm not going to go in to the whole dramatic situation behind the apology because ...well ...I don't feel a need to test the word limit per post on this blog :) Suffice it to say that more of my tears have been shed over this situation than any other in my life. Possibly combined. And those of you who know me know that I cry a LOT. You also know that I am a great sleeper. I can sleep anywhere any time and in any situation. I lost sleep for weeks at a time. Honestly, I still am dealing with some pieces of the fallout. But I have been determined to remain friends with this person. Like I said some may say I'm too forgiving. But for whatever reason, I felt a driving need to appear "fine" and to remain friends. I was successful, and even before the apology, we were friends. I wasn't exaggerating when I said 'one of my best friends' earlier. In my mind all had been forgiven, and I had moved on. Things had been awkward for a while, but we moved past it and had been talking joking and laughing like normal for a good month or so. So when I was pulled outside at a Halloween party a few weeks ago, I didn't think anything of it. I just grabbed the hand he offered and followed. We shared a chair by the fire on the patio, and he said, "So how are you?" I thought this was a strange question, especially to pull me outside for. After all, as I said we had talked and laughed and joked on a daily basis for the last month or so. I looked at him with my head tilted and my forehead wrinkled with a confused look on my face as I said, "Iiiii'mm good... why?" He said, "Well, because I feel like you're not. I feel like you haven't been ok for a while." Not wanting to admit any sign of weakness, I said, "No, I'm good!" And I said it energetically and with a smile. To which he replied, "Toni, you can't bull-shit a bull-shitter." This guy knows me better than possibly any person on the planet. He is the only person that can literally can look right through me and tell you exactly how and why I'm feeling the way I am. I knew it was pointless to argue, but I continued to try. After a while, he just said, "Look, it's me. I know you've been having a hard time, and I know that I'm responsible for a lot of it. And I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for every part I had in that. You and your friendship mean a lot to me, and I just wanted to say that I'm sorry, and that I'm here if you need anything." I looked at him in shock and awe and said two words. In my shocked state it was all I could come up with. "Thank you." It was the most sincere thank you I have ever said in my life. The level to which I was touched really surprised me. I pondered for a long time about why this was, and I realized that I honestly think this was the first time in my life that anyone has actually said the words 'I'm sorry' out loud to me. It was the first time in my entire life I had been apologized to in person with real words.

This may sound surprising, but think about how many times you have actually said the words 'I'm sorry' out loud to someone that you've offended or been in a fight with. We throw around the words 'I'm sorry' like candy. I'm sorry that happened to you, I'm sorry you're going through that, I'm sorry you had to see/hear that, sorry I wasn't home, sorry I can't help you, sorry I can't get to the phone --leave a message, I'm sorry -can you help me, or a nonchalant sorry man! We throw the words around like candy, and that's ok, but I'm talking about sincere apologies to people that we've offended/deeply or personally wronged. I have been sorry about things and I have been in fights with family members and friends, and we've reconciled whatever issues we've had and gone on with life. I have implied that I 'm sorry, I've texted emailed and written the words many a time, but I don't think I've every actually said such a honest and sincere and blunt apology. And I think this is sad. I can't think of anyone I'm still holding a grudge against, or that I haven't forgiven, but it's not the same. I've made it a point to make honest sincere verbal face to face eye contact included apologies from now on. I think the world would be a better place if we all did the same. I don't mean to sound ungrateful or picked on because I certainly don't feel that way, I've been apologized to before I'm sure, just not in so many words. I appreciated it more than I can explain, and it's changed my life, really. I'm not sure that this made sense, but I just wanted to share a couple things I'd been thinking about lately.

A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

Therefore, I'm not going to type them. I apologize to all my faithful readers *rolls eyes* (wink-wink) but I have just not felt up to updating my blog. You KNOW how hard it is to get me to do something that I just flat out don't want to do. And I suppose that it's not that I didn't want to update it, I was just overwhelmed by the sheer volume of topics that I felt obligated to cover. It's been an absolutely chaotic and wonderful last few weeks. I'm home in UT at the moment, and it was so chaotic the last few weeks, that all I did for the first three days I was home was sleep and hang around the house, enjoying time with my family and food cooked by mom. I literally didn't venture outside until yesterday. Now that I'm done with the bulk of decompressing, I'm feeling bad for not writing. I just can't do proper justice to all that I've seen and done and felt over the last little bit. I ended a wonderful stay in the greatest city in the world, left behind many great friends and coworkers, visited our cations capitol and saw EVERY monument and memorial and gift shop and sidewalk that there was to see, I entertained four separate groups of fabulous friends and family from home and played tour guide around the city (three times), and FINALLY completed my list of things I wanted to do in the city (the monstrous list I'd been working on for 6months and two weeks of living there) oh, and I was still working full time nights. I have compressed all this into the last three weeks. Each one of these subjects deserves a novel unto itself. I'm a big believer in the philosophy of not doing anything that you can't do right --perfectly. Then a familiar phrase came to mind as another wave of guilt washed over me about not blogging my many adventures and feelings. A picture is worth a thousand words. I have kind of a picture taking sickness, in that I am addicted. I take an average of 1,200 pictures a month. More if I'm vacationing with friends/family. I have a photographic detail of nearly every minute of my life the last few weeks, so for the most part I'm going to let the pictures speak for themselves. I have 6 complete photo albums that I've uploaded to facebook in the last three days, and I'm not going to upload all 360 pictures here. So I'm going to further narrow down the ones that I already narrowed down to the "bare minimum" to put on facebook. So if you want to see more (and I humbly submit that you do :) ) Check out my facebook or myspace pages. Or you can email me if you don't have those and I'll see if I can send you the link. So here we go.

My Mom, Aunt Pam, Me and cousin Kelsie (clearly at the statue of liberty :) )

My mom and me in Central Park

at the Fire Museum --coolest place ever ...you just have to go


ex-roommate Kirsten and I in Central Park


At the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village --the biggest Halloween Celebration in the US

Danielle and Me at the Bronx Zoo -- I love zoos!!

My favorite Gorilla at the zoo

My first Knicks game

Me and Danielle at the game

Central Park South

Central Park South looking at the Plaza Hotel

The gang from work at my 'last weekend in the city' party

Jill and Me in Brooklyn

Me sleeping on the bus to DC

So Mike says, "Just bring your luggage to meet me at the white house and I'll keep it there in my office." We weren't sure about walking up to the white house with our luggage, but we didn't get arrested :) (note Starbucks cup :) 3 hours of sleep on the bus was not enough!)

The President's motorcade, for which a bystander near by where we met Mike thanked us for the opportunity to witness. :)

WWII Memorial 'Here We Mark the Price of Freedom' There are no words.

Jill and Me at the Lincoln Memorial

Korean Memorial

Again, no words. Korean Memorial

Jill and Me at the nurses monument at the Vietnam Memorial

Jill Mike and Me on the White House front lawn waiting to see the President and First Lady take off in the Marine One helicopter. Are you seeing why I can't describe everything that has gone on lately?!

Me and Jill on our own private tour of the West Wing of the White House



Me and Jill in front of Marine One. That's a big freakin' helicopter!

Indescribable

On the wall outside the Holocaust Museum. This says it all.

Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

Arlington

Iwo Jima

Jill and Me on the Jonathan Larson bench at the Life Cafe back in NYC

My favorite doorman, Rupert. Every day I'd walk in and say, "Hello!" and he'd respond with a cheery, "Okay!"

And that's my life the last few weeks. Thanks to those of you who shared it with me and to everyone who made it possible and incredible. Memories impressions and feelings were created that will not be forgotten after a lifetime.