Catching The Curve of Joy

When I first moved to New York in January of 2001, I sent out anecodotal emails about my life in NYC to all of my friends and family called "New York Stories". These developed quite a little following. They were entertaining, fun to write, and dare I say, joyful. Then I stopped, mostly because my life here became hard, really fast. And at times, un-endurable. (Or so I thought.)
Over the past three and a half years friends and family have reminded me of these old emails and asked me when I'd be sending another. "Next week", I'd say. But, it didn't happen. Don't really know why, except that my fiction became non-fiction, so to speak, and I lost a bit of that story teller's perspective. That ability to, as Hemingway put it "write hard and clear about what hurts", and I might add, about what heals. Peering a little more deeply into myself, perhaps I lost the ability to step outside of my life and to, with humor and compassion, witness it as more of wonderful albeit challenging story.
So, I am going to resurrect this tradition of mine and begin a new kind of "New York Stories" forum/format: a blog about my life in New York City centered around the theme "catching the curve of joy". This stems from a quote that has meant a lot to me in the past year and it goes something like this: "the un-endurable is the beginning of the curve of joy".
Ironically, I can't have joy without the un-endurable. So this time around I'll be more honest and a little less sugar coated.
Allow me introduce my own little "curve": my name is Erin and I live in Astoria, Queens, NY. I have a "day job" that can, at times, be un-endurable. When I'm not there I do many things to catch some joy: I practice yoga three to four days a week, write, read, hang out with friends, loved ones...occasionally audition. I trained as a professional actor in London for three years after under-grad, and then moved myself to NYC, alone, with a suitcase in my hand, four and a half years ago.
...re the whole audition thing: I started acting when I was fourteen, booked my first Equity gig when I was fifteen, and from there pursued acting with fervor and momentum.
I wore myself out. And got tired of not having any health insurance.
So I chose a day job to get some stability. To get out of feeling that my finances were un-endurable.
And now that I'm a year and half into this day gig, I'm observing that I don't have much joy. Instead, I worry that I'm compouding the many self protective layers I've developed through the years. And it's those layers that are becoming so un-endurable -- not NYC, or my job, or the overly perky barista at my neighborhood Starbucks.
I can tell you who I am, or rather, the activities that I think define who I am-- acting, yoga, running, knitting, writing. I know I'm a friend, lover, daughter, sister, aunt. I'm a recovering this, and a recovered that -- I am many things, like all of us.
I'd like to thrive, though....I'd like to stop hovering just above despair and start reaching towards this curve of joy.
I first read this quote in Rolf Gates "Meditations For The Mat" http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0385721544/104-2579603-7298336?v=glance , an excellent book with meditations for the practice of yoga, specifially an asana based practice.
I liked it, and it resonates with me, mostly because I seem to think that everyone else can or will get joy. Except for me.
And I'm pretty tired of thinking that. Really, it's just a load of crap to think that someone else has got "the edge" on joy.
What a self-defeating thought, and yet I admit one I inhabit on a regular basis, particularly in the midst of my daily routine. I observe myself on the subway in the morning, and I know I've developed this "don't-look-at-me-I'm-listening-to-my-ipod-and-closing-my-eyes-because-my-life-is-kind-of-hard-these-days" persona.
I mean, what the heck? I chose this life.
But for a while now, this whole "weary of the world routine" has clung to me,
and suddenly I'm not so comfortable with this misery, particularly the self perpetuating kind. After many years of hovering just above the despair line, I'm thinking to myself: Who the heck is that girl on the R train? When did she adopt such a cynnical and closed face? Why is she sleeping in the corner seat, huddling her bag to her chest, wishing for the day to be over?
Why is she so tired?
....and most importantly, why does she look as though everything is un-endurable?
The thing is, this just isn't really me. And my life isn't un-endurable. I mean, come on, it's pretty good. I'm angry at myself for believing and then choosing to act as though my life sucks, because really, that's just another way for me to avoid life. And to avoid the rather substantial part I play in creating my joy.
I have begun to ask questions of myself. A frightening but necessary thing, because wearing my misery is wearing me out, i-tunes could bankrupt me, and I'm so darn tired of being afraid of joy.
So maybe it's time to investigate the curve of it.
Stay tuned.
Erin (Erinskaya)