being human. really really human.

I miss New York City, I do.

It’s good that I’m here, that I’m working. Oh, thank God for work. It’s like my brain on yoga, or something. How are you feeling? Doesn’t really matter so much right now, cause I have about a thousand new lyrics to learn, BIG BIRD to operate, harmonies to memorize (thank God for being a soprano cause the top is so easy, you know), dances to get in my body–not to mention understudying Velma, which basically makes the equivalency of a computer crash happen to my brain every time I think about that–as well as a lunch to pack every. single. day.

I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but learning a new show is sort of like falling in love. You know, you start getting to know him and suddenly all you think about is him. And oh gosh, even though most people would argue that the cloud formations are lumpy-somethin-or-others at best and ambiguous at worst, you’d swear they look just like the two of you together. Written in the sky. Meant to be.

Or whatever.

But learning a new show–it’s everywhere, too. And the lyrics pop into my head and I’m going over the steps and I’m doing my own sort of non-romantic falling in love with the cast and we have our own jokes and it’s consuming and I think that kind of consuming is really good for me now.

Especially when I do dumb things like remember. And start to feel a familiar dysphoria again. And then I remember how that dysphoria hasn’t found its way to the New York City version of me. Not that I change that much when I’m there or anything. It’s just that life feels changed while I’m there, I guess. It’s just, New York City is new. And I’m whoever I want to be there. And I am not feeling left out or left behind or out in left field somewhere; no, the only left that I’m aware of when I’m there is my Fearless Leader–aka Google Maps!–telling me to turn left. And I do. And I get to wherever it is that I’m going. It’s so simple.

It doesn’t feel so simple here.

And I’m fine, I really am. It’s just that sometimes life feels like a lot and sometimes I remember feeling safe and close to someone, just one person, as opposed to so many now who care a world’s worth, I know, but who don’t smile in the middle of aisle  five in the grocery store simply because I exist, you know?

And I guess I miss that sometimes. And I forget I miss that when I’m busy learning a show; and I don’t miss that as much when I’m in New York City; and for some reason, this great big sky that is so much closer here in Pennsylvania reminds me that I miss that.

But maybe it’s okay to remember this.

I guess it’s what we would call human.

And humans are arguably one of God’s most complex and fascinating inventions. And like Pinnochio, who couldn’t really experience being a real boy without all that danger and all that love pulling on his heart, I guess I can thank God that I’m not a puppet made out of wood. That I have a heart that beats and feels and hurts and heals and loves, still loves the hell out of life and people (which is basically what life is made of, right? People?); and I guess I, too, can say, “I’m a real girl now.”