Lesson #9: Live Out Loud

One of my all time favorite quotes by Zola: "If you asked me what I came here to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." I think that succinctly, elegantly, passionately sums up my existence. And the last few days have been no exception. What do I mean by "living out loud" exactly? Embracing life. Squeezing all of the last drops out of every experience and opportunity. Loving fully, often more than you are loved back. Not being stingy with your time, money, or emotion. Realizing that the moment is all we have. Being your true self. This weekend I flew back to NYC for a few days to regroup, do some laundry, see old and new friends, and attend my own choir concert (the first one where I was an audience member and not a performer). Friday night I had a lovely, lavish Italian dinner with some childhood school chums and their respective spouses. It was a trip back in time, nostalgic, but rosy. That night I played wing woman to my roommate at a local bar and helped her meet a charming young lad. Such a strange, yet welcome, role reversal for me; not being the one in the hunt, but sitting on the sidelines cheering on my friends. Saturday, I steeled myself for a beautiful performance of classical and modern music in a church I have often sung in, with a choir I've been with for years, a casualty of my Atlanta travels. It breaks my heart not to be singing, and I couldn't quite keep it together during the performance of achingly gorgeous strains from the viola de gamba and choir. It was made all the more poignant by the fact that one year ago this weekend, I performed with the choir, had a magical evening, the clocks turned back, and I slept a deep prosecco and melatonin-filled slumber only to dream the most vivid dream of my grandmother being transported to heaven. She died the next day. I'm still struck by how fast it all goes. How one minute you have this whole life, and then it's gone. Today, I woke up early to meet my childhood best friend for brunch who was in town from London, punctuated by frantic calls to Delta to change my flight. Marathon madness made the city pretty unnavigable but somehow I managed to make it to LaGuardia. But not before we jogged down to 4th avenue to catch a glimpse of her husband running past us! What a moment. They embraced, he removed is extra jersey due to the unexpected blazing sun, and headed off for another 18 miles. As soon a I arrived in Atlanta I dashed downtown to The Tabernacle, a former house of worhsip cum concert hall, to hear Feist perform! Always a feast for the ears, she did not disappoint. A bittersweet weekend filled with love, loss, and lots of music. And so went the last 72 hours. Not one of them wasted. The extra hour sure didn't hurt.