The day is bright and warm, and I woke up with a great outlook this morning.  There is nothing that has drastically changed from yesterday to today, but I feel especially strong today.  That is the human condition.  We are constantly moving from one state of being to another and often times without explanation.  The Buddhists advise to simply breathe into what you are feeling and be with it --- no matter what the feeling.  Today, I am feeling strong, alive, optimistic, confident and I am certainly breathing into it.  It is one of those days (like all others) when truly anything can happen.  Breathing, breathing, breathing ...

Today is Paul Cole's birthday.  Paul is my former NYC roommate from the early 90's (do the math).  He and his wife, Kelly, are two of my dearest friends.  They've been with me in good times (many of them) and bad (many of them, also).  What I most appreciate and admire about Paul is his sense of integrity and honesty, his straightforwardness, bluntness and his ability to "tell it like it is."  I have often been the beneficiary of those qualities.  He has been my adviser, my confidante, my teacher, but mostly, my friend.  Paul's ability to adapt  and "think outside of the box," while staying within the parameters of what is legal, ethical, and fair in both his personal and professional life have allowed he and Kelly to not only survive in the real estate market of NYC (their current professions), but  also to thrive.  

As we have reached that point called, "mid-life," I am honored to go through it with a friend like Paul from whom I continue to learn.  Happy Birthday, Paul, and here's to many more years and many more laughs!

BTW, if you are looking for an apartment in NYC, from personal experience I can highly recommend, Paul and Kelly Cole 
http://www.corcoran.com/agents/Listings.aspx?userid=KGC&region=NYC

After an amazingly stormy weekend on the East Coast and a dangerous drive back into New York City from visiting with friends (high winds, slick highways, and delayed bridges), I had the pleasure of attending opening night of a new Broadway show titled, "LOOPED," starring Valerie Harper.  Her performance as the aged Tallulah Bankhead was funny and, at times, disturbing --- a great combination for a night at the theatre.

Afterward, I joined my friends, Jason, Mark and Marilyn, for the Opening Night Party at Sardi's Restaurant.  As we sat in what is arguably the most recognizable of pre-show and post show theatre eateries, I had a moment of nostalgia.  I remembered many nights in the theatre district and numerous opening nights spent in the afterglow of a first performance.  I looked around at the myriad of interesting, elegant, and sometimes odd, patrons that snaked from the buffet line to the bar to the tables.  All around paparazzi snapped pictures and people were abuzz with excitement and critiques of the performance.  

In recent years, my role has been to be much of an observer of people, body language and behavior.  This atmosphere was rife with much to observe.  

After an hour or so of eating, talking and laughing, my friends said their goodnights and left.  I remained for a bit, watching some more.  I didn't really want to connect with anyone new; I simply wanted to view the activity and the antics.  In doing so, something interesting occurred to me.  I realized that I enjoyed my role perhaps even more than I had previously known.  I enjoyed not entertaining, not being centered in the activity.  Mostly, I enjoyed sitting and observing.  I felt strangely comfortable sitting alone.  In fact, more than comfortable, I felt inspired by this sense of freedom.  I felt that I was watching a show in which there was no need to react or do anything.  In those moments, surrounded by an abundance of activity, I was content to simply sit and be.  To me, this was a breakthrough moment.  I felt no need, no desire to give anything more or receive anything more.  I was completely satisfied.

Later, I walked 40 blocks back to the apartment (about 2 miles) in the cool, brisk wind.  I felt exhilarated by the sights and sounds of the City around me.  I felt myself present and experiencing the City as if it were all new.  After years of living in New York City and countless opening night parties and theatre experiences, it all felt new and exciting; not because there was the promise of something to come, but simply because I allowed myself to observe a bit more closely than perhaps I had done when this was my "normal" life.  I realized my new "normal" last night and I relished it as much as the performance or the party.  It is a pleasure to wake up to a simpler, easier me.

When I lived in NYC full time, in mid-March I would always begin looking for the first signs of Spring in Central Park.  I'd inspect the buds on the trees that were still closed up tight, afraid to come out too soon just in case there was a winter backlash.  I'd scour the ground for the first signs of the green shoots that would herald the coming of yellow daffodils that would soon cover the entirety of the park.  All of this would usually happen in late March.

On this visit to NYC, I thought that I might miss that opening of Spring.  I thought perhaps I was here just a bit too early to be a part of the event.  However, yesterday as I walked into the edge of  Central Park, there they were.  The first flowers, purple, white and yellow, were all peeking up through the ground.  They were just barely visible, but the warm temperatures this week and the abundant amount of sunshine must have coaxed them out early.  Encouraged, I looked at the trees a bit more closely and, yes, a few of them had released their grip on the tight fibrous shell of their enclosure.  At first glance, Central Park is not yet in bloom, and talking with friends, there is skepticism that Spring has actually arrived (and I suppose hard to believe after such a brutal East Coast winter).  Yet, there they are, the first messengers of things to come.  I am grateful to be a part of those first indicators of a City that truly comes alive in Spring.  I wasn't too early to experience it.  

What comes next is equally as interesting.  The next thing to blossom will be the inhabitants of the City.  When they safely feel that Winter is truly over, Central Park will be filled with activity, gratitude, and a distinct sense of freedom.  I may start that a bit early, also.

Last night, an old friend and entertainment attorney, invited me to Feinstein's to see and hear Marilyn Maye.  This incredible talent has the distinction of being the singer asked to appear more times of any other singer during Johnny Carson's stint on "The Tonight Show."  Last night, I found out why.  Despite the fact that Marilyn is of an age that most singers/performers have stopped doing their thing, Marilyn seems to be at the top of her game.  Her voice is strong, dynamic and flawless.  She plays on stage like a seasoned veteran who still has the enthusiasm of a child.  She touches the audience with heartfelt emotion and raucous laughter.  And, amazingly, she still has a sex appeal that belies her 80 plus years.  Marilyn Maye is an inspiration to me, not only as a talent, but as a person.  I hope that when I am 80-something that I can still sing, kick, swagger and play like Marilyn Maye.  It was a unique experience to be that close to someone who knows how to channel the energy and spirit of life through her artistry and being.

Yesterday, I made my way to one of my favorite parts of Central Park.  I was sitting in the tree-lined area of The Mall (no, there are no stores or shops in this area) near Bethesda Fountain.  This area of the park is almost always populated with skaters, hacky-sack players, and musicians.  Yesterday was no exception.

I sat on the long row of benches near a jazz saxophone player that I have heard many times over the years.  I noticed that he always seems unperturbed by anyone who passes his way.  He is there to play , short and simple.  His case is opened to receive tips, but I get the feeling that he'd play whether anyone tipped him or not; whether anyone was even there or not.  I admire this type of player, this type of person.  My perception is that his need to play and to express himself through music  is so pure and so strong that it is the playing itself that fulfills him.

For about ten minutes I sat in the open, sun-soaked  area allowing my eyes to fixate on any of the many people playing games, skating, snapping photos, and taking in the sights and sounds of an early Spring day.  It was relaxing and inspiring and completely 100% free.  It only cost me a bit of attention and it was worth every second.

I arrived at my old Manhattan apartment building on West 82nd Street a bit after 1 am this morning.   Surprisingly, the harsh chill that I had expected from a NYC winter, that often lingers long into April, was absent.  Instead, I arrived to temperatures in the 50's and a week that promises to be temperate and mostly sunny.  

It is strange.  Often times when I return to NYC in the winter (especially after having been in a warm Southern California climate) there is such a feel of hardened hurry that is reflected in the landscape around me --- brown walls of old snow, a leafless Central Park, and a mob of people running from taxis and subways to get out of the cold as soon as possible.  Not this time.  This time there was another feeling in place.  I felt strangely warm and welcomed and not rushed in the least.  On the contrary, my cab ride was smooth and pleasant, and at this moment, I don't feel that wall of push that says, "go, go, go."  All of this beggars the question, "Did New York change while I was away, or did I?"  This next week will be very telling.  In the meantime, I'm very glad to be back and looking forward to the adventures still to come in this beloved City that feels as if it is about to burst with Spring.

Later today I am flying to New York City.  For years, I have gone back and forth between living in Los Angeles and living in New York City, though as of late, I have not been back as often as I would like.  The City welcomes me with activity and familiar places, while at the same time, slapping me wide awake with reality (and in March, with cold).  Yet, each time I go back to the City that first opened its arms to me and started me on a path that I would not change for the world, I am grateful.  There are certain phases of my life that could not have been complete without New York City.  There are friends who have become family who greet me with a warmth and familiarity that truly makes me wish that I could live in two places at once.  NYC, today I come home.  It's not a long visit, but as always, it will be filled with adventure, opportunity, and love.

A dear friend of mine has been visiting with me for a few days from Central Florida.  Today, she goes back home and we must say "goodbye."  This is a friend who has always kept me laughing at myself and who has helped me to keep my feet on the ground when my mind has wandered too far from "what is."  I am thankful for her presence in my life and the words we share between us, the ones with which I agree and, even more so, the ones with which I do not agree.  To me, that is a good friend.

We had a conversation this week in which she asserted that, in terms of quality of friendship, she has received more from me than I have received from her, and in which I asserted the opposite.  She listed all of the examples of things from our friendship that have enriched her life and, likewise, I listed all of the ways in which my life has been better because of her presence in it.  Ultimately, we had to agree to disagree on this point.  The level of appreciation for one another is quite high and it shows in all that we continue to do together after 24 years of friendship.  Today, as I say "goodbye" to her, I take solace in the knowledge that she will always think I have added to her life in some way that is comparable to the way in which she has added to mine.  She is a good friend and I am very thankful for her.

This morning a hawk was circling about the hill in front of the office window.  For about five minutes, it flapped and sailed around.  It hugged the side of the hill reaching out its wings as if the feathers were a paintbrush coloring the green and white bushes beneath it.  I don't know what it was looking for or what was keeping its attention, but I enjoyed the aerial show.  

The hawk seemed to be on a mission that was unhurried and stress free.  At times, she would let the wind currents simply lift her up and she would rise higher into the air, seemingly with no intended destination.  Today, I have set for myself the goal to be like the hawk --- to simply let the current pick me up and see where it takes me, keeping my arms outstretched and not being overly concerned with the destination.  The thought of it makes me smile.