Sitting on an ice-cold bench across from the theatre where thirteen years ago, I saw my first Broadway show.
I think about the simplicity of that joy– of the rush of feelings. I think about how my heart still picks up its pace when the lights dim.
I came from a 2hr Alexander workshop, and I’m wasting time before an audition, which will be followed by a volunteer ushering gig at an off-Broadway theatre.
If I separate out the politics, the anxieties, the “too much” I know… I can feel that ten year old me watch me in awe. I’m doing it.
And yet, sitting here myself, in the center of the world, I feel desperate and off-kilter. I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, what I want. I walk past it every day. I circle it in my mind every hour. I feel it like a lump in my throat. My want blooms so fully, sometimes it feels like it chokes me.
A man approached me just now. “You a very lucky lady.” I smiled at him. He began to rattle off questions. “This is your lucky year– no 2011, no 2012, in March this year you be very lucky lady. He put a crumpled piece of paper in my hand. He had me close my hand, put it up to my forehead. “Name three flowers. Okay, daffodil, rose, posy, D,R,P. Count the gurus in this picture.” A laminated photo of Gandhi and ho followers. “Open the paper.” On the paper, D,R,P. “Now a number under five. Turn over this paper.” Three. Three. “Give donation and I tell you your name, age, where you from.” I don’t have any cash. “ATM card.” I have a card but I’m not going to get money out. “Here, take this paper.” A bright rendition of Ganesh and Shiva. “Laminate it. Put in your bag. You very lucky lady.”
I don’t believe in fortune tellers, but I will allow myself to feel that instinctual tug towards magic. I want to believe I will be lucky. Most honestly, I want to believe that I will get what I want. That I will live the life that I have given my whole self to cultivating.
That in 2013, this want will bloom into a Daffodil, a Rose, a Posy.