Daily Quote

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song. ~Lou Holtz

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

We've Moved

If you've read this blog then you know I have this little habit of moving....

If interested, you can find us on Wordpress. Though the blogging platform may have changed, the subject matter remains the same. As said by Robert M. Pirsig, Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive.

Thank you for reading.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Song of the Bird

In his book, Song of the Bird, Tony de Mello tells the following story:

A man found an eagle's egg and put it in the nest of a barnyard hen. The egg hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them.
All his life the eagle did what the barnyard chicks did, thinking he was a barnyard chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air.
Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat in its strong, golden wings.
The old eagle looked up in awe. "Who's that?" he asked.
"That's the eagle, the king of birds," said his neighbor.
"He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth--we're chickens."
So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he thought he was.

I've been spending a little too much time in the barnyard.

Lest we not settle as chickens when we were created to be eagles.

Friday, August 5, 2011


I've recently found it easier tell a story of a wayward blonde rather than writing as a first-person narrator. As long as we're all on board with this, let's continue.

So we know our leading lady is a blogger in her early to mid...late 20s. And she is fine with that. After several years story-building in Los Angeles, our leading lady flees to Manhattan to pen the first draft of her work, borrowing generously from life's daily happenings, all perfectly ripe with material. 

In her East Coast adventures, all seemingly capricious and whimsical if not intentionally wayward, she found peace in her bohemian lifestyle, ultimately understanding this period in her life was only a chapter; and one she would think back on fondly one day when she is seated comfortably and God-willing not complacently, on the path of the straight and narrow.

Undoubtedly her chosen path is on the road less traveled, yet no matter how high the grass was overgrown, she knew if she kept walking, she would eventually find the pasture she set out looking for.

This brings us to today. 

The day wayward got a job. It wasn't just any job, much like it wasn't just any guy. The hypothetical character that showed up shortly after the turning point in Monday's storyline; he wasn't some carbon copy version of Mr. Right. This person is Wayward's custom-built leading man.

This job isn't just a job. This job isn't one she would just take because it was the right time. 

It's a job that combines all of the experience gathered in The City of Angels with all of her experience in the Big Apple. Sprinkle in a little of that Mississippi blood memory of southern hospitality, and we have concocted the perfect role. 

People skills will come into play. She will get to write. She will get to create and finally have an outlet for all of her big ideas. This job is Wayward's custom-built dream job.

Wayward is never presumptuous; rather hopeful and ready for this opportunity in a way she hasn't quite been ready before. 

She trusts that will show.

For us, there is only the trying.  The rest is not our business.  ~T.S. Eliot

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Great for Life: Bad for Blogging

I worked as a script reader a few seasons in The City of Angels. In this role, I read a screenplay and write a 1-2 page critique summarizing plot, storyline, characters, and pace. I found it easier to give script notes when the script was poorly written. The better the writing, the harder it was for me, the reader, to analyze. I relied upon a few go-to phrases that Hollywood seemed to like: nice pacing, quirky, likeable characters, interesting plot twist. Sometimes I went as far as using the word "flawless". These are all great descriptive words, but they don't help an agent sell a script or convince a producer to develop the project. 

If life is like a screenplay, its easiest to analyze when composed contrarily. 

This brings us to today's topic: What happens when a self-proclaimed wayward begins to feel grounded? 

Great for life, bad for blogging. I didn't do so bad as a poor woman's version of Carrie Bradshaw, committed to binge dating and casting New York as one of my lead characters. Oscar Wilde would agree that life imitates art far more than art imitates life. In my New York story, I needed the Bradshaw-experience before moving to the next phase in life. 

The Charleston wedding I attended in mid-June, where two Jesus-loving friends smiled through tears as they said "I do", would clock in around page 65-70. Was it pure coincidence my date was part of the wedding party, leaving me alone to experience this moment in full detail? The wedding would be the Turning Point, where our almost-jaded-lost-in-a-sea-of-dating leading lady discovers there is more to dating than filling in cells on a spreadsheet. After seeing what real love looks like, our leading lady might decide 'dating for experience' feels childless and empty. 

The leading lady, a wayward blonde, returns to her city a little off-balance. What is she to write about if it isn't dating? 

If she doesn't write something somewhere everyday can she call herself a writer? 
What if she is so audacious to proclaim she wants to date a Christian man? 
Can she make a 180 from Carrie to Charlotte? 
What if she doesn't even like Charlotte? 
What if she experiences a period of silence in her dating world? 
What if she neglects to text part-timers when bored or needy because she wants to leave room for the real thing? 

If this were a love story, and dear readers, it is a love story... 

Would she meet someone who would urge her to be a better almost-woman? 
What if he encouraged her to live less of the world and more along the path of the straight and narrow? 
Would this hypothetical leading man take her on church dates? 
Would he call in the middle of the day to say hello? 
Would he greet construction workers while walking down the cobble stone streets of the West Village? 
Would he accept her little habit of Grey Goose Martinis in moderation? 
Would he be charming to old people and refer to elders as sir and ma'am? 

We've only just arrived at the turning point...lets not go dashing to the ending. 

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up. ~Pablo Picasso

Monday, July 25, 2011

Seeking, Asking, and Reading Horoscopes

There is this little thing called manifesting and this big thing called prayers.

I'm a huge believer in both. Is that un-Christian of me? Is it bad that I think sometimes God whispers to me through my horoscopes? These questions would get me kicked out of my Southern Baptist Church in Mississippi. 

Though my horoscopes are often strangely on-point, my faith is in the Big Guy and I think he speaks to each of us in a unique and personal way. If we are like Alabama and always in a hurry and don't know why, it's only natural that he might slip a message on page 28 of The Post.

The thing about manifesting is that sometimes things actually happen exactly the way you imagined they might and naturally, you're surprised. In Oprah-land, and all things eventually point back to Oprah, similar moments are "ah-ha" moments. Good job, Oprah. We like those times when you realize, Oh, that's what I'm supposed to do with my life. 

Here in Waywardland, we prefer God Winks. God winks are those special little moments when prayers and those things you manifest collide. How great does it feel to get a wink? Not the scary Palin kind with jaw agape, rather a moment when two eyes meet and in a very subtle exchange of communication, a message is delivered that seems to say: you're on the right track, kid.

I write God a daily email as this method helps me to keep record of blessings of gifts that may have otherwise been overlooked while focusing on the big things.

I still don't have my dream job (or a real job for that matter) -- something I've been asking for since I don't know...birth? It feels like that sometimes. But I have gotten so many other things in life I've wanted; many I forgot I even asked for.

Today's Lesson to Waywards:
  • Ask. Write things down. See your dreams, hopes and intentions in black and white. 
  • Don't forget to your pleases and your thank-yous.
  • Don't forget to apologize for acting like an a-hole. We all act like a-holes at some point. Acknowledge it. Say your sorry and try to be less of an a-hole next time.
Who knows? Whatever it is you are seeking more than anything else in this whole world might just be waiting for you. And maybe it is a he who just so happens to be the type of person who also knows a God wink when he sees one.

And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, "Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain." So God granted him what he requested.                                     I Chronicles 4:10

Friday, July 22, 2011

Last Remaining Weeks of Singlehood

My wife and I have decided to take the next step in our relationship. I'm moving in.

Munst hates that I refer to her as "wife", but we all know married people don't have sex so perhaps such a title is well suited for our co-dependent, non-sexual relationship. The premise of the half-hour comedy, Happily Divorced revolves around a married couple of 18 years who decide to stay together after discovering the Mister in the relationship prefers Mister's. 

Perhaps a friendship holds as much value as a relationship. Sometimes more.

My sister-slash-wife and I feared we risked messing up "a good thing" by moving in together. Currently, we get along flawlessly. Moodiness and arguments are kept reserved for other people in our lives. We share the same energy level, similar to that of a 10-year-old on a Pepsi binge. We share a love for The Darling (the dog), the compulsion for a sweaty pony tail, and the fondness for a Grey Goose Martini.

I don't live at her apartment, but I do. I have drawers. Shelf space behind the mirror. The other day, I discovered an unopened bottle of contact solution on the counter. She must have noticed I was running low. All the facts aside, I pay rent elsewhere. Even though I only stay there at my Eastside place one -- maybe two nights a week max, we fear that two-day buffer might be necessary for us to remain a happy family.

If this topic of moving in together were a conversation was a topic with a suitor, I would yield such hesitation signified that we simply aren't ready for the next step; and if we aren't ready for the next step after x amount of time, something must be wrong. This talk would lead to a break-up and it would hurt, but I would assure myself I was making the right decision. They say if you know, then you know. I would repeat this mantra for weeks and ultimately move on and in a short period after, ask myself why we ended things. 

I'm speaking hypothetically, of course.

Relationships should be treated as delicately as friendships. I'm not constantly searching for things that might be wrong with my wife the way I would if she were a he. I'm not dwelling on our families merging at Thanksgiving or which city she prefers for baby making. There was never a rush to reach a decision and even more, we openly shared our anxieties surrounding this issue. 

Perhaps relationships would be stronger if we were able to communicate with them the way we are able to communicate with our best friends.

I'm not moving in. I am staying at her place for a month or two as it makes sense economically. August will be breezy as we'll be happily spending the bulk of our time out East. When September arrives, she and I will be in serious relationships and having similar move-in conversations with our new beaus. I like to think this experience has been good practice for when that time comes.

In the meantime, we have decided to enjoy our last remaining weeks of singlehood together.

Lucky is me to have a friend as close as family and shares my fictionalized lens in life.

What is a friend?  A single soul dwelling in two bodies.  ~Aristotle

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

In One Year

One year ago on this day, I lived in a fifth floor walk-up just off St. Marks, in an apartment shared with a stranger I met on Craigslist who enjoyed entertaining young men and often forgot to close the door. *Small detail: my then-roommate was a 37-year-old man. My shower stood perched on  perched porcelain legs of an old bathtub and lived in the middle of the kitchen.

At this time last year, my social life consisted of pulling up to a bar one block from my apartment to have a nightcap with my "friend" Giovanni, an Italian bartender with a heavy hand. Additional social outings were to include random dates with any Peter, Paul, or Mary who might have asked me out. I desperately needed the company.

At this time last year, I worked as a bar back with nightly earnings never exceeding a
Ulysses S. Grant.

At this time last year, I didn't own an umbrella, snowboots, or a Metrocard; I braved slippery New York streets coated with snow and ice in a pair of Jimmy Choos. Okay fine, H&M's best impression of Jimmy Choos. The scars on my elbows are a constant reminder of the tough winter that was. 

At this time last year, if I were asked how I was liking New York, I would answer honestly, "I love this place. I'm getting exactly what I came for." 

It was less the city that left me dough-eyed and more the experience; the newness of it all.

This brings us to today. 
I'm now living in the West Village with my best friend who I refer to as my New York sister because our bond is as thick as family. In short, she is a person that not only would but has taken the shirt off her back to give to me. 

I have a New York mother, who is always willing to listen to my mishaps, share a glass of red, and feed me if she thinks I start to look too thin. Like a real mother, she is always quick to offer her opinions.

I have a dog. Well, half of one as she is a shared possession. NY sister and I have recently renamed her "perfect" because there is really no better word to describe her. Mila is the perfect combination of beauty and brains we all aspire to be.

I have a job. If only a bar job, this temporary means to an end is a place I enjoy logging in hours. I now run the show, make my own schedule, and know everyone who walks in the door on a first name basis. 

I still have random dates with strangers but this time, I have the privilege of being a little more selective because I no longer need to go out for the sake of being out.

As of August, a beautiful house in The Hampton's awaits my New York family who have graciously granted an open invitation for their wayward blonde.

What is to be learned here? 

Sometimes it takes bloody elbows to teach us to step a little slower, pick ourselves us up a little faster, and choose wisely which Avenues we walk on.

Waywards: Keep on swimming. The water out East is nice.

Hey Mr Grump Gills
You know what you gotta do when life gets you down?
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming
~Dory, Finding Nemo