Aug 18, 2009
I look around like a spooked kitten.
I look around like I’ve had amnesia.
Is this my life?
Is this my microwave?
Is this the food I left behind?
Did I really eat smoothies every day?
Are these the shoes and clothes I wore?
I strangely fit into it all and yet none of it fits.
I had a routine.
I woke up; I drank or ate this and that. I cleaned this and the other. I wake up today and have no idea what comes first. What is the routine?
I’ve returned to the new normal.
Life will never be the same.
I’ve seen everyone from family to friends for my 30+years, looked through every photograph that proves that I’ve lived, that I was loved.
I laughed here and was awkward there.
I see.
I know, because there is proof,
but I feel nothing.
I come home to a smell that’s unfamiliar, a schedule that’s unfamiliar.
Everyone remembers me and I don’t exactly remember what I’m supposed to do.
1,2, 3, 1, 2, 3. It’s easy. It’s scripted.
I know my life and yet I come back to it like I’ve been in a coma, questioning everything.
Who was I? How am I supposed to be? What do I say?
When I left, I had a dad. I don’t have a dad now.
I’m not an orphan.
Quite the opposite.
I’m ruled by my mother and sisters, strong like masts in a fierce wind, they guide me and hold me to my truth, to the life I decide to lead, weather its here in LA or NY and yes, I chose that grammatical choice in spelling of whether.
They say love is true when it’s lost and you only remember the good.
I never want to forget the man my dad was when he was bad, but right now; I only have the pedestal complex for him. I only remember all that he brought to my life in a positive way. He was my muse. In all of his complexity, mystery, secrecy, revelry, lovely, he was my life like my mother and sisters are to me.
For the life of me I cannot remember why it was that I moved so far away.
I know, but I don’t know. They are my life, my blood and my truth.
I’m new to this life. Not nearly as young and hopeful but older and still full of hope.
I remember at the funeral and wake, seeing my young cousins.
They probably don’t even know my name.
I wouldn’t want to know it either. I would never want to be there. It’s so not close to them.
But I think, my gosh, take it in, my little friends.
My family, my extended family, the Searle’s and Woodruff’s and Coughlin’s are so sickly strong and awesome and beautiful and dynamic and creative and cool.
Love this life now my little friends and suck it all in even if your mom isn’t cool because you are 16 years old.
Suck it all in now, because there will come a time, when you are ripe, still young, sexy and filled with hope and promise and you will long for the static cling our family provides, even if it causes internal strife and the longing to leave.
We are so stunning in our closeness, our pain and promise.
I might be biased because I am in this family and many of my cousins I don’t know well enough.
In fact, many of them only know me from facebook or my blog.
Well, if that’s the case and you are reading this or even if you are reading this and you aren’t a member of this crazy family of ours, you probably have an equally crazy and dysfunctional, misunderstood family such as mine.
If that’s the case, I’ll reiterate, suck it all in, my friends.
My family drives me car crash crazy, but I love them better than any trend or crush or wave of emotion.
Love is, above all else, the thing that gets you through.

When I came home to NY, all my girls from high school, college and post came out to support.
I don’t have a boyfriend, kids or whatever, but they came out to represent. I missed all of their weddings and baby showers 'cause I was in LA, filming a movie or teaching a workshop.
My career, my creativity, my endeavors took the back burner, because life happens.
Life happens even when you are in the middle of your own shit. Life is happening all the time and no matter how busy we get with plans, career, facebook, grocery shopping, wedding planning, making babies, we’re always taking care and preparing to take care of what’s most important, the friendships and family ships that keeps us surviving beyond our bank accounts and breakups.
Our love is what keeps us going, our connection between family and friends is what gets us through.
At the end of the day.
At the end of every day.
Every day.
I’m home.
I’m in LA.
The beach is to my left. I take out my trash. Where is the dumpster again? It’s only been a month that I’ve been gone and yet it’s been a lifetime. I can’t remember the damn key to my mailbox or top lock. Does it turn right or left?
But I smell the salt air and I remember, this is where I chose to be.
I come back to my apartment and begin to write. I hum a tune. One that my lil’ sister, Kathy made up for her cat, Mitchell. I sing it to myself and I begin to write. I'm alone, but I don't really feel lonely.
I’m here but I’m still there. I will always be there with them. I feel it. I hope they do too.
I hate this part. The part where I leave them. My mom cries every time. Then she goes back to her life and I don’t hear from her for days.
I think about my dad. He’s never left.
But maybe him leaving will be like me leaving. A little hard at first, then she’ll go back to her life. She’ll think of me…my dad…everyday…but it will be a new normal without us.
I know, it’s a little different for my dad. He’s not coming back.
In a way, I feel like he’s never coming back but that he has an all access pass to be wherever he wants whenever he wants. Who knows? I don’t.
I’m home again. The home I keep coming back to and wondering why, until it makes itself clear to me.
Home is wherever you are and love is all around whether it’s within reach, a phone call or flight away.
Keep showing up. Even if you can't for your friends wedding or first or second child's birth. Keep showing up, if not physically, through a gift, flowers, cards or a call. Show up.
It’s up to us to nurture the home we have within us and outside of us with the family and friends that define home.
I love LA. I’m so glad I’m back. But I have a dull ache within that still pulses with NYC heat and NY suburban family and space and accents from the deli counter or post office. It’s home. Within.
Savor it when you can. Embrace the craziness, annoyance, and lovely mess of it all. Soak it up. Mop up the mess and live it up. There’s nothing like it.
Nothing like it to inspire you wherever you are, making your life and your home. It's all within.
At least that's what I keep telling myself, each time the plane hits the tarmac and I know the time is different, the night is day here but the heart knows no time. I'm always home.