I just hung out with my friend who lives beneath the Empire State Building. More or less, she’s the right hand man of the president of google or something. And it all started with a letter, she said.
“I had no idea what I was doing, in film school, not going to go in that direction. I contacted the French embassy — and that kicked it all off.”
Now, she makes a super good living, very. Like, every three years, she makes over a million. That’s a smart person. In her thirties. For someone who isn’t in entertainment or an industry where you could make — multi millions, I don’t know how to compare, but she’s extremely comfortable and doing very well in her life. She could start her own business, I don’t know, decide to do something else, but she’s only going up from here.
I get that…I could have a lamborghini, in some capacity, I got that note… I don’t know what to say… picturing Charlotte in this situation, she’d never be in.
I just happened to meet at this crucial juncture in my life — men I didn’t need to meet. And there was a lesson in all this for me, that my life, my friends, the people I had, they were my greatest untapped resource. I didn’t need to have this bright bulb attitude… I didn’t need these men enabling my shadows… I needed to turn inward, sure, but into my life, the people in it, and dig in there. My head was a mess.
It’s been such a gift to be with her on her rooftop overlooking the city in surround sound, floating in vertical landscape of angular glass towers, H & M along the top of one, the empire state building lighting up at an intense angle, as if it were shooting out of our heads. A New York dream.
We have the best most elaborate apéro ever where we’re snacking like royalty nonstop—it’s so French, so wine flows. We carry our bags of food from her one bedroom surrounded by windows, the current changement politique on TV, to the very top. I love that about the French, there’s always a discussion with snacks, good wine, you’re basically feasting, apero.
She’s handing me a super nice bottle of wine because her boss gave it to her and she doesn’t drink wine. She drinks Corona. I don’t. She gave me two bags of groceries because she’s leaving in two days and she’s so abundant and generous and I’m so proud of her and enamored with her because she’s done really well in her career. And she’s so grounded around money — she has retained a realistic perspective as to what a lot of money is, she’s not wasting her money even if she clearly dresses well, she clearly is doing well in her life. She’s always talking, especially when it comes to food, what’s correct, and what’s not.
If I were making what she makes a year, I would have basically replaced what I lost.
That’s what I mean about how some people treated me when I inherited some money. I get I knew where to buy clothes but — I guess I was a character out of a movie to people, hilariously, looking at Dave Chappelle, because they mistook me for a rich person. That guy isn’t making that mistake. Some people thought 500k made me a Kardasian destined to be Meghan Markel. That’s a no. I was not an heiress, be real. Because I had nice clothes? And I found good apartments? Or was it my personality? I don’t think that a rich person is...reading me like that. Meaning, I might not have appeared like I was totally aware… and unfortunately, strangely, even, I seemed to inspire thoughts from people I didn’t even understand or relate to, I just didn’t say anything. Like, for the most part, people’s impressions of me — didn’t resonate. And I also went along with everything, in a sense, because WHO CARES?
And the Zen Master Sybil, who will go down as my biggest regret, as she really was the best psychologist I met. I just couldn’t grasp what she was saying. “CARE, this is the problem with you.” Who cares? She’d slap me proverbially across the face with RAGE. She tried, she really did. I didn’t have an opinion, I’d say in college, because everyone has one — so who cares? You think you’re opinion is special? The fact that you have one? Get over yourself. Now, I have a opinion. Now I am over whatever this problem was. I wish I stuck with her, but it took a painful road, as I reconnected with her at the end of my TWENTIES, and if I had stayed at 26, as she BEGGED ME TO, I would have avoided these men. “Who the FUCK are they?” That’s the first question she’s asking, as she just tried to get ENRAGED at me.
“YEAH,” I can picture her face — in my FACE — “WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? WHAT DO THEY WANT FROM YOU, MARIA? IT’S TIME TO THINK. WAKE UP.” Doing drugs at the Carlyle? This woman? She would have taken a cab from Queens, lol, “psychedelics?!” She would have shown up, enraged — “where the fuck is she?” And she would have dragged my ass out. “You’re NOT the person to give drugs to…” Unreal! I really ended up… skidding off… you see. It was family problems, for sure, that I wasn’t aware of, not to say that I was going to become my mother, I’d rather die, quite frankly, but still, I had to deal with inheritances I didn’t understand. Not the person to get involved with, like the GURU was an idiot, and she would have been the person to — fire breathing dragon: AWAY. GET AWAY.
I think, to her, my rage problem, which she saw as a CARE issue, fundamentally, ended up bringing these men into my life, in the end, like I had lost all sense of — maybe not all — danger, even. Some dude from Beverly Hills, wanting to act like he’s a psychologist? And with all people! ME — someone who wasn’t a level ONE. Unreal! And I ended up leaving her, because we disagreed about “expectations.” Imagine? She was right. She’s NOT saying “don’t have vision,” she’s saying “NO EXPECTATIONS.” So, what can I say? I fell for shiny pictures.
Charlotte, my friend last night, was like, here’s the thing, I’m going to tell you, I would chose ONE thing, if I were you. UH HUH, look, I’ve been here before. I’m glad I did that, because I used to really absorb what people thought, and I would put their opinions above my own. I said, that’s not where I’m at hunny. I’m in transition. I can’t CHOOSE acting yet. I can go on auditions, I can get that going, but CHOOSING one thing, that’s technically writing. I just need to rethink how I approached that because the last decade was even stupid, so I ended up in some random corner.
I wanted to be a writer at the top of my thirties — and I met, no one I needed to.
This guru goes, “your life idea is family.” Why is this man HELPING me for one? Because I am unfortunate? Because I am SPECIAL? At writing? WHY? I was just trying to LEAVE FAMILY! It’s called a maladapative pattern. And this guy, another one, a slytherin goes, “go into psychedelics….” and these two men, unrelated, they’re going, “you gotta practice writing,” when that’s so vague. Charlotte asked me, “where do you want to END UP?” A book? Okay, then Charlotte is going to go, “how can you get there?” But in terms of “being a writer,” meaning working as one, working for publications, that’s what I’m thinking now. Do I want to end up at Vanity Fair? New Yorker? Think, Maria. What do you want to write about? I started as an interviewer, right? Because I liked people. But it wasn’t my dream, you know? I had past to work out, so I wouldn’t be here to begin with I don’t think… I ended up here, and I’m… starting over.
I wanted to be an actor when I was nine… and I came to wonder if that was truly my dream… that me, no way, that I didn’t listen to…
But all the same, I acquired a skill. I hope at least. I am where I’m at.
I told her, crunching radishes, she got me a fat stack of mortedella, cold cuts, just a lovely generous person, that I had to start over, you know? And she doesn’t judge me for where I’m at, and God knows I don’t care where she’s at, so we can meet, but I’m trying to think more strategically, think about what I’d like to do with writing, as I, for better and for worse, have been doing it for years now, and it hasn’t really gone anywhere, so what do I want to do? Is there a way that this could help me to thrive? What do I want to write about?
So admittedly, I didn’t know how to answer that question yet, I’m thinking about it, now. Like, do I want to cover scandals? She was saying, is there something I could do to help me…like getting a psychology degree? Anything that will help my “expertise” in the area I’d like to be in.
That’s what she does: strategy.
She said she’d look over my CV, and she’d help me strategize a plan of attack. She said, how many CVs did you send out today? I said two. She said, what about 200? Okay, I laughed. I’m looking forward to getting her perspective on how I’m presenting myself, because she said, she helped her friend, and he got two job offers, etc., and I’ll continue to think about — where I’d like to end up.
She said, that if she were me, she’d be following the NY Mayor elections. She’d be interviewing people… and I nodded, because it’s creative thinking, but that’s not my way.
When it comes to writing, I don’t know — I told her I was working on essays, that I’m targeting EPIC, because they are a magazine that has connections in film. I think entertainment is where I’d like to go, I want to get a book deal, but I think Miracle Mile would make a strong motion picture. I’m working on an essay about Barbara Harris, so I’m going to target more reputable outlets with that, but when it comes to writing jobs or publication jobs, I don’t know what to say. Do I want to be a staff writer? It’s a basic question.
It’s like, what am I going to say about FAMILY, no offense, or am I supposed to talk about trauma or overcoming maladaptative patterns? Where? Besides an essay, what exactly is going to open up a door? In that case, I should get some kind of back up… which is what she suggested, thinking about it that way. I was also thinking about the think pieces that the NYTimes does, about “self development being America’s true passtime,” so I feel like I’m beginning to approach this from a better angle.
If I don’t want to write like that, what am I going to do? I just got back, after wandering the Earth, and no offense, the Zen Master Sybil would be like, Jesus Christ, “this delusional travel spell…” AN UTTER NIGHTMARE. That was an utter nightmare! I don’t give a shit about travel. These Beverly Hills gurus, they need to wake up—if someone was IN the hospital, you don’t encourage them to travel without money — with this — anything is possible attitude. They have a problem.
Nothing but enablers, I’m telling you.
I just got back to New York and am looking for more work, and if I could figure out how to approach writing more productively, maybe I could just support myself better, but I don’t quite know what to do. So that’s what I’m thinking about right now… how I can use what I got, right now, to elevate my life a bit.
I’m going to see what she says about my CV, and I’m going to continue thinking about how I can write in a way that will work for me. Or, in what direction it could support me because I’m in an active position — looking back, I don’t think I needed to BE A WRITER in this way, you know what I mean? But I’m moving into a new phase of my life, and I can only move forward based on where I’m at.
I’m working on my book, all that, but JOB WISE, in the present moment, what DO I DO? There was no trajectory there. No career. If I had published a book already, that’d be one thing, but I’m still working behind the scenes. Charlotte suggested giving French people tours of New York, so she gave me creative ideas, which I’ll keep in mind. I rather just stick to my own circle. I most certainly didn’t NEED HELP, you see, that was ridiculous. LOOK AT ME. DO I LOOK LIKE I NEED HELP? Insane, insane! I can picture the Zen Master Sybil, nodding enraged at me: “MARIA you’re a WOMAN?????” And once upon a time, “huh?” “MARIA????”
“Get with it.”
What a shadow that was, truly, the help shadow — almost killed me. I got out though. I exited, those gears turn without me, I’m not inside these mechanisms anymore. Stupid, it was so stupid, it really was. Even living for free — right? WHY????????? Zen Master Sybil. “Why??????? Are you in DREAMLAND? YEAH,” she would have turned her cheek ENRAGED. Looking back on her rage, it was full of wisdom, and funny enough, it was the spiritual perspective.
If I were working a couple of nights a week in a restaurant to make extra money, that would be fine, at the next step, right? As I need to recover. But I’m looking for direction and fulfillment. I crashed landed in NYC, I had to start over—okay. I shrug. So we build over time, sure, some CRAZY INSANE IMPOSSIBLE OPPORTUNITY COULD FALL FROM THE SKY, the guru would bark, or something, and let it fall, please, I’m begging that it does, but I can’t operate like that — I have to pursue. I do not want to get stuck in purgatory. And if something comes from that, that I didn’t expect, that’s luck. Let me be lucky, sure. But I’m in a seat of action now, which is a better position to be in. I’m opening my mind, admitting to myself: look, I worked out my life recently. I understand WHY I’m here, and I understand that I want a HOUSE, forget home. I’m talking the literal location. Too much sentiment back there. And no offense, I look at Barbara Harris, because I was a vulnerable person, and I’m giving you two fuck you fingers, okay? YOU go be VULNERABLE, it sucks ASS.
I told my friend this evening it’s my metaphor right now. I felt, I said, that I’m finally living my life, or I’ve grabbed “the bull by the horns.” I can’t quite get comfortable, I’m on a ride, and there’s fear in it. I thrust myself foward, shit, audition friday, and shit there’s an audition yesterday? What? How? That was fast. I’m sending a video anyway, I don’t care. I have no money right now, I don’t care. There’s moments where I cry. I don’t know what to do, how I got here, why I was thinking — build over time, not to say I couldn’t have met a COUNT, as this professor of mine, he believed I could become a member of the royal family, British. That’s funny, it’s a good movie idea. I’m in Love Actually, and Benedict Cumbertach is a politician, and we have a hilarious romance or relationship of some kind — full of humor and heart. He’s going to be at his wit’s end — I’m going to be making him laugh… He can’t deal with the pressure of the situation he’s in, and I came from a sex scandal, man. Hold it together. In the parliament kitchen. I’m kicking my feet, getting Neapolitan in sunglasses. It’s a good idea…but in REALITY, I probably would have positioned myself better by shining in the world — if I wanted to meet a DUKE, which makes me laugh. Again, I made my choices.
But I look back like, “huh.” That was silly. I was not a play thing.
I chose to not be ambitious, not pursue what I deemed to be worldly pursuits. I was not someone who was seeking to succeed in the world, I decided not to. Okay, I shrug at myself now because all that — vanished. It was a flimsy entreprise. I have a very different sense of self now that I worked out a psychological problem.
I have no idea what’s going to happen — but I do have the feeling, though I experience lots of ups and dips, that I’m more aligned with what I want my life to be. It might not be the lofitest goals, but for someone who was told by all these random people that I was Professor X’s protegee, seriously, that I was the most psychic human being, able to channel other times, and I could be a movie star, though I had never been in a movie, nor did this person see me act, or write! It was purely based on what I looked like, which is rather basic, or my personality….I lost sentence structure. I could make it, in some capacity. That was the point…that I wasn’t getting… I was “an elite” person, who just needed this guy’s help… getting to older men? I was confused.
They weren’t getting me. It was not the other way around.
That’s what the emotional retour was, about me. OKAY. I could be a Duchess. I could be “the girl with a plane.” ME. I could find a super super rich man with a plane, or a Saudi Prince. No problem. HOW I became this person — I have no idea. It was comical, for sure. Not that I couldn’t meet a Saudi Prince and enchant him. I just don’t understand how this became my potential “gift” or life path. It was the strongest play I could make, in other words. (Some people don’t feel that way, they’d say, I could inspire these kinds of thoughts…) It’s still funny.
I’m a smart person.
I think I had a look, no offense, not to get basic about it. I think people were affected by how I looked and how I acted and they made up a story I could inhabit — in their mind. That’s fascinating to me, like I could have — cue, “and I said how about, breakfast at tiffanys…” walked down the block with conviction and eccentricity towards Tiffany’s on Fifth Ave. I could have been the modern version of a person who eats a croissant in the mornings with an allure, looking into Tiffany windows, in good sunglasses. I’m 100% confused. You know? I had range, this was the other point, why didn’t you see that? Was I really Breakfast at Tiffanys? Thinking about how I look on camera. Not like I couldn’t be that person, but I’m not sure. Me saying DIAMONDS in pearls… getting into a cab in a black gown… I was inspirited? Enchanted? Yet real? I don’t even know who I was to people. I looked like I had money… but I really lived in…a regular apartment. Nothing special. It was all an act, even if she was one of a kind. It’s Audrey Hepburn. I exuded a quality, or I developed in a directon, but I’m looking back, and thinking — I have no idea who that is, someone I’m still making sense of.
Hannah Arendt is seeing me lug racks of clothes across airports…? To this song.
I don’t feel a strong sense of continuity. I feel as though, I am closer to the child that I was, and there’s a middle period that I’m lost, basically, that’s it. I don’t totally understand it, myself, and I’m still piecing together what happened. In the end, I met people who said, you could make it in some capacity, and how this differed from anyone else, I do not know, it was a touch ridiculous. I’d like a house. I’d like a partner. Family, sure, but I don’t know what that means, I’m almost 40, not to say I couldn’t have a child, but life is in these details, I think.
I’m trying to connect to what my real dream is, and thinking about where I’m at currently, and even think larger for myself, trying to hone in on the skills I have, or what I’ve been doing, and figuring out how to make that work better for me. So — what do I want to write about? What do I excel at? So I’m figuring that out, because I don’t want to work in a restaurant, I’d like to turn my wheel in some capacity, as a writer, because I’m there, I can pitch articles, easily, it’s more about direction… so that will clarify itself. For the moment, I’m going to finish these pieces I’m working on, and I hope that they will land… I like EPIC, just because, XMAS in NAPLES is EPIC, too, it could be. Barbara Harris could be, too, I’m just trying to go into entertainment, I think. But that doesn’t mean I can’t cover scandals, do a think piece, whatever it is that I would enjoy covering, even if scandals suck.
I might be without answers, but I feel as though this is my life, that I’m beginning to go after it. “And I said, what about Breakfast at Tiffany’s…” with the ghost of Barbara Harris laughing. It’s funny, because, the slytherin said I reminded him of her, which is funny, because I get it, I get it concerning the person I was back then, it’s just that, that wasn’t really me, and he was talking about who she was…onstage. Not to say she wasn’t vulnerable, I don’t know how to approach that. But I’ve wrapped my hands around the horns, and I’m not letting go, and I feel my internal compass respond… but I still have all this manifestation shit I don’t need. I don’t know what to do about the pictures I see in my mind… not that fun, always.
I know you can manifest. I know you can make your dreams a reality, sure. My head was a goddamn mess. I’m telling you. I have no clue HOW I’m going to get there, only that, I have to make a reach, get a grip, and put clear instructions into the GPS, I’m aiming to go “here.” It’s basic.
My friend, she wakes up at 4 AM every day and works until 10 PM she said, sometimes, but for the money she makes, I guess she must work hard, but she’s got balance in her life, it seems, where she can go on vacation, sit for a couple of hours with me, and luckily, I’m the type of person who leaves at 9, not a quarter to 10, so I’m a thoughtful friend. People sometimes can RUN OVER in a way, I don’t understand. I’m out. She owns her apartment in Paris, and that’s where I wish I was, in some configuration. I’m not there. I can’t buy an apartment, I can’t say I have a career yet, or that I was even interested in those things… it’s just, stuff I had to work out. Which is why I reject “the other mother” thing, reject. I did NOT NEED THIS.
Fuck off.
I don’t know what to say about the heart, literally speaking, meaning people with overactive hearts, just because my HEART was a goddamn mess. That too. My mind, sure, but holy shit, this guru, my cousins, opening up like that — a disaster. My heart was a mess. The organ, yes. And was that the psychedelics, too? Just a major fuck you to those people with their heart openers. Major fuck you. Major fuck you to the slytherin who farted on me, and I don’t give a shit, because — congratulations, you’re so evolved. I came from a background, assholes, and a dead woman helped me better than any of you — Hannah Arendt. Here’s a major leaguer who just has to sit there.
Anyway, so I’m off the next couple of days, which is great, I’m listening to my body, and stating what I want, as I had a bit of a dramatic — why are things happening to me, because my employer, and I love them, that’s not the issue, put me in as much as they could, but I had a response — and I’m just listening to that. So I’m working in a restaurant for the moment, and I’m trying to… keep growing and moving… and they love me, for real, these people, they appreciate me, so they only want me to… thrive out there in the world, so THAT’s the type of energy I need. I HAVE community. I do. I just wasn’t seeing my life clearly. I mean, holy moly, what a strange decade.
But I got to the other side, successfully, and I’m trying to digest all that, for one, and think about how to package all that, and share that, because I went through a very rude awakening. “Words are not your primary form of communication,” imagine? This guru. He was a goddamn computer. Ridiculous. Anyway, it was so lovely seeing her, it was sucha God send that she was in town for a few months when I got back, so the stars aligned, she’s such a solid and loving friend, and we didn’t talk about all this, because we never had that kind of relationship, but there’s a real friendship there. She had to see me, before she left, type deal. And I always love speaking French, because I love that language. So that was my night, I’m sad she’s leaving, but I feel more aligned, better about WHO I am, WHERE I come from, and putting myself out there. I gotta get to an open mic… but more so than that, I have to get into a rehearsal room now and work stuff. I have to nail Angelica, I have to get a tennis skirt and cap — and begin ACTING as her. “HEY YOU, girl! Andrea, Jo, Michele, Louise, Nicole, MARIA! POHA! GODDAMIT!! MARIA!!!!!!” SHe knocking down children, “yes?” “NOT YOU,” she ANNOYED. This woman was amazing.
“This BEETCH told me rape,” smiling at you to rip her to shreds. I just have to master the acecnt. “Pay attention, pay attention…” I need to work her musical lessons in the car. “LISTEN, life is a moment in SPACE… PAY ATTENTION…”
“When the dream is GONE, it’s a lonelier PLACE, WHY? PAY ATTENTION…” and her chest is forward, these were utterly hysterical. “I KISS THE MORNING GOODBYE,” and she waved it goodbye for sure, “and you know we never know why,” but she did, right? She made love, baby, all morning long, BUH BYE…I’m four. Trailing behind her… she got another baby, lol, she didn’t want. Insane.
Anyway, I’m off for the day.