Libs on the Reel: World

Showing posts with label World. Show all posts

Friday, August 31, 2012

Stay awhile--watch the sun go down...

The sky reflects pink and the city's stunning skyline echos brightly below.

The wooden planks rattle as bikes roll across. The wind blows my hair into my face.

I look up at the arches of the bridge and imagine that if there is a heaven, these must be what the gates look like.

As the sunset on summer approaches, I take a breath and begin to reminisce on the times that have resonated these last few months. What a beautiful--delightful summer it has been.

I've had a lot of favorite moments this summer--from stunt jumping, to taking on a new job, to my acting classes, to buying my new bicycle--but none stands out more than one particular night that reminded me to stop rushing--actually--one particular night that reminded me to just stop at all.

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On July 5th, even time began to stand still. Walking through Brooklyn Bridge Park, I felt at home. I always feel at home in New York City--but this time felt different. Much of this had to do with the epic view of the most beautiful bridge in the city, but a lot of it also had to do with the company I was in--someone who knows a lot about enjoying and living in the present moment.

As we continued along our walk, we stumbled upon a free screening of E.T. We stood wondering if we should stay--or we should go. Many times--in this world--people to leave, to say "I'll do that one day--but not today." However, on this night we opted to stop--we opted to stay.

That night, following the film, my friend sent me a note about the "stopping" experience--the lesson learned:

"Because we know that we have grown accustomed to moving too fast--when we want to leave something because we think we don't have time--just wait a little longer...Even if you need to lay down and take a couple deep breaths." - Rachael C. Smith

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The rattle of wooden planks brings me back to the current moment--here, and now, where I am sitting on a steel beam that separates the pedestrian area from the traffic below.

I watch the clouds turn back to white from their pink, and the sky glows a mix of purple and blue.

Stay awhile-watch the sun go down-even a big city has the warmth of your favorite small town.

I opt to stay and take a few deep breaths. I am present. I am home.

Monday, August 1, 2011

"The world is full of magic, you just have to believe in it"

"The world is full of magic, you just have to believe in it."

I had my real best friends growing up--and then I had Joey Potter, Topanga Lawrence, and Brooke Davis to teach me about hardships--getting through the tough times--and moving on to the good times. I had the creek outside of Dawson's house, the playground in which Cory and Topanga reconciled their love, and I had the river court in a fictional town called Tree Hill to escape to. And--boy did I escape.

It's been six years, and eight seasons, since I first left reality and stepped foot on the river court. And this weekend, I stepped onto the river court--for real.

And while the magic of the lights, the camera, the action wasn't there--the magic that the river court itself had on me--was.

Rather than a light shining down on Lucas Scott and Nathan Scott squaring off in one on one basketball match, the sun beat down illuminating my own aspirations, my own memories, my own moments of tranquility and passion and love. I believe we all have a place that works like this, for us. We all have a place that we have spent seconds on--minutes on--hours on, just dreaming of a bigger future, one that shines the same way our best fictional friend's dreams do on the television screen. It could be the side of a mountain that we climb when we need to get ourselves off the ground. It could be the first art studio we painted in. It could be the kitchen we cooked our first full course meal in. It could be the tree house we built in the middle of the woods to hide out in when our parents got angry and called us by our middle name. It could be anywhere.

For me--it's my little league baseball field, where on many occasions the bright light was the sun that did shine as my team won or lost baseball games, where I got a base hit or struck out, where I caught a fly ball-or made an error. Like the river court, for the fictional characters, my baseball field acted for me as an analogy to life--with ups and downs, proud moments and errors, home-runs and strikeouts. And no matter the moments I spent there--good or bad, I never stopped dreaming there.

Standing in the middle of the river court, in which the hoops have been taken down (so as for fans not to steal them), I am reminiscent of a time that I sat alone on my old little league baseball field--staring at the mound, the one I used to stand on. Despite it's tiny slope, it's the highest point on the ball field. And whenever I stepped foot on it--I felt on top of the world. That still happens now.

And that reality is better than any fiction.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Occupation: Superhero

At my pre school graduation every single one of us was asked to tell the audience composed of parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and family friends what we planned to be when we grew up. The answers ranged from firefighters to doctors to lawyers to dentists. Why our pre-k teachers were asking us what we wanted to be when we were barely old enough to pronounce three syllable words really is beyond me, but nonetheless, I responded by saying I wanted to be the first female president. If I had known what that meant, when I was just a four year old, I probably would have said “Anything but the president.”

And if it were four years ago, I may have said “I want to be a sports broadcaster,” but now I know exactly what I want to be, and that is a superhero. I want to be able to save the world one great cause at a time. I want to impact someone who then in turn impacts someone else, which thus results in a continuous line of impact.

I want to provide the world with a kaleidoscope of viewpoints. I want to make a change.

I think part of me first realized this when a teacher once told me that I was going to change the world. This was soon after learning that my college field hockey program had been cut from the University of Rhode Island. At that point in my life, I had completely believed that sports were the only thing that mattered and that if sports didn’t exist then well, nothing else did either.

The other part of me realized how much I wanted to make a difference in the world when I was exchanging emails with a newly acquainted pen pal on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Instead of defining myself to him as an athlete or field hockey player, I told him that I was a writer and a traveler and that I had hoped to learn of new things of the places I was traveling, with his help, since he had traveled before as well. I wanted to learn more about the world so I could impact the world as it was impacting me.

In the last nine months, I have lived in New York City, wishing that I could help every homeless person to a piece of bread, and every child without an education to a simple math problem. I have lent my hand to people by opening the door for them even when they walked away without saying thank you, and I have given up my seat to strangers following a long day at work. I have made an effort to save the world one small task at a time, and at the end of the day I have felt both wonderful and inspired because of it. Since coming to New York, I have been changed. I may not have a full-time career just yet, but I know that putting the word superhero next to occupation is beginning to look more and more like the full-time job that I would like to take on.

And to be honest, while sports scores interest me on a “brain candy” level (as my tenth grade English teacher might refer to it)…saving the world just seems much more appealing.