Nothing fancy to say today, I just wanted to check in and tell you that I’m okay-ish here.
I’m really, really tired, because being sad and confused is exhausting. Also, because I just got back from New York City, where I was giving speeches and meeting incredible people and discussing all the fantabulous plans for our book. This was my facebook status update the second day of our trip:
Okay monkee monks. Day 2 in NYC. Speaking to reps of O mag, People, CBS, Today show, Redbook, LHJ, assoc press and more. Also, I didn’t sleep all night because, you know. But.. NYC lesson #2…We show up. Even when we are tired and broken and our faith is shaken. We show up and we say what we need to say. I feel you with me. I shall do you proud, with the help of lots of coffee and visine. Love you forever.
I did feel you with me. And I think I DID do you proud. New York was wonderful. But very, very fast.
To be fair, I live in what is basically a retirement community (for real) and the eighty year olds HERE are often a little too fast for me, with all their tennis and golf and water aerobics. LAY DOWN, EDNA AND FRED!! It’s a pool!! It’s for laying DOWN! C’MON HELEN, PUT DOWN YOUR FOAM DUMB BELLS AND ORDER A DIET COKE WITH ME! It’s a retirement village not the OLYMPIC VILLAGE, RUTH! Jeez.
So - New York City. Oh My God. It is EXACTLY like those Running of the Bull things you see on TV each year except I can’t find any bull. The people LOOK like they’re walking from afar, but the “walking” pace you are expected to keep is that of an Olympic track star. I have very, very short legs. And now my feet hurt so badly that I am wondering if some sort of surgery will be necessary.
And so I was just thinking, New York City. I love you. But I was wondering if maybe you could try this: perhaps tomorrow all you New York City people could set your alarms just ten minutes earlier than usual. Just ten. And THEN, you see, when you get off your train or bus or space shuttle or WHEREVER in the SAM HILL all you folks come from, you could look at your watch with great surprise and pleasure and see that you are ON TIME! And then you could stroll at a leisurely pace and enjoy your beautiful city.
I would also like to suggest cozier clothes. I think it will make you happy. Look at me. Like this, see? You are welcome, Mayor Bloomberg.
But I love you, New York. You left this for me, waiting on my hotel bed.
And your cabs are so damn terrifying that I got lots of chances to squeeze Sister’s hand tight.
You took really good care of me, after all.
Monkees, your love keeps pouring steadily and mightily into my inbox. That love is what is keeping me afloat. The net we’ve weaved these last four years is saving me. We were all strangers and then I threw you a story like a life line and you threw one back and then we all kept throwing each other lifelines until we’d built this solid, beautiful, strong net, like fisherman use, with a Monkee at every inch along the wildly wide diameter. I’m just sitting in the middle now. With lots of other Monkees. We take turns holding up the edges and sitting down in the middle. In the middle, we wait for some clarity. We give ourselves some space. We let ourselves be carried and watched over and protected.
I love you and I love our net. Nobody’s gonna slip through. We’re all gonna make it.
PS. Tish made me this welcome home sign:
Okay, Sister Tishy. I will.
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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