Olympic Gifts

Talent belongs to God. Training comes from the robots within us. What makes the equally trained and the equally talented unequal is their humanity. Gabby Douglas' charisma, Missy Franklin's sweetness, and Michael Phelps' humility, qualities they sustain regardless of the results, sets them apart from their sometimes more qualified opponents, whose desire to win is palpable and gives away their ego (or their parents' and trainer's egos, in some cases).

Within my own talent and my own training, I have often felt that subtle tug-of-war between my ego's need to succeed and my gift's desire to serve. Before I step on stage, I have learned to ask of myself, May my ego step aside and make way for my gift. May I give what I am meant to give to this character on this stage for this audience. May I have the courage to serve, may I love every minute of it, and may I remember to be grateful for the experience in its entirety. 

I do not always grant my own request. I am sometimes too pleased with myself. I sometimes want to shine more than I want to give. But it is never long before I am humbled. On those moments, I look much like Jordyn Wieber, Viktoria Komova, and Ryan Lochte. Failure shatters poses.

Gifts are delicate. They shy away at the sight of arrogance. I must always keep myself in check, and practice catching it as it happens. If I have enough clarity and presence of mind, sometimes I can reverse it as it is happening. I am failing. I suck tonight. I am shmacting. It is hurting me to fail because I stepped on stage tonight wanting to succeed, wanting to be known as a great actor, wanting to be applauded.  I must let that go. It is not my job to succeed. It is my job to get out of my own way. I'm sorry, Talent. I tried to use you to make others see me, admire me, and love me. That is not your purpose. I accept failing tonight so that I may learn and grow for your sake. 

I watch the Olympics not only to cheer on the athletes I admire, but to study their humanity. I hope to absorb their clarity, their balance, and their drive. And I always applaud the courage it takes to remain humble, kind, and grateful after their consecutive wins.

Making a Wish

When I make a wish I close my eyes and see a huge theatre with a big stage. I walk onto the stage and look out into the audience, who is in the dark. I am the only one lit. There, in the place where I do what I am meant to do, I make my wish.

And then I think of the people I have known in my life who would want that wish to come true for me. Family members come to mind first, then current friends. Then past friends, old friends, distant friends. Teachers, mentors, students, and co-workers. Lovers, boyfriends, crushes, the heart breakers and the heartbroken. People I've known all my life and people I've known for instants.

I think of them, one by one, and see their faces. Whether they know it or not, they want my wish to come true. Even if they have hurt me in some way, or if I have hurt them, they are part of my storyline, and so they are part of what leads me to the knowledge of what will help me grow.

And then, the lights in the theatre come up, and I can see the audience. All those people I thought of are there. A full house; hundreds of smiling faces. They live in my safe place, in my sacred temple, in my heart's home, and they want my wish to come true. They all want me to be happy, successful, in love, fulfilled, clear, and at peace. They all want to see me realize my full potential.

I thank them for being there. And they applaud me, because they know that is my favorite sound in the world.

I open my eyes, and I am the strongest version of myself. I am filled with courage and love. I have made my wish, not upon a star or into a fountain, but in the heart of every single person who has made me who I am today. I am unstoppable, I am alive, and I have touched the miraculous.

The Miracle of Life

I wanted to write about the 12th anniversary of the Columbine school shootings, as I did last year, but my mind was empty all day. Instead, I looked through one of my albums on facebook, "practicing the miraculous in everyday life," and found inspiration there. I started this album two years ago, as an attempt to focus my attention on the beautiful parts of my life. I decided not to care whether my pictures came out cheesy, artsy-fartsy, or self-indulgent. I was just going to take pictures of things that made me smile and share them.

It worked. I became increasingly more aware of what inspired and moved me. My surroundings played a bigger part in my appreciation of life and beauty. There was room in the album for nature, city life, silly faces, loved ones, funny moments, melancholy, nostalgia, and, of course, love.

It is my collection of miracles, and it has restored my faith many times.

It is through some of these pictures, then, that I will honor life today.

Practicing the miraculous in everyday life. 2009-2011

The steps to the fountain in Washington Square Park, where I go when I need inspiration, or just a little love from the city.


Sunset on the 4th of July, view from Brooklyn. Kerri and I ran up that crazy hill in Dumbo on that night, trying to get to this sunset, and then to the fireworks. Worth it.

Footprint on the sand in Hermosa Beach, CA. I love wet sand, and my favorite is when it has that moonlike consistency, where your footprints kind of rise up for a few seconds. It delights me.


I found this one day in Central Park two summers ago, when I really needed to restore my faith in love and romance. It also reminds me of Notting Hill, which happens to be one of my favorite movies. (I know. Whatever. Leave me alone.)


I have a passion for face masks, especially bright blue ones (the smurfier the better, I say, for smurfs have such good skin!), and this picture became an instant classic.