Morning Music

I’m in NYC for work this week (cue the piano and Alicia Keys). Oh, so smitten with this city.

I feel small here—beautifully small—in the best way. Here, the city’s electric current is charged by the millions of heartbeats packed in so few miles. And—whether it’s your hometown or a hotel stop—this city is built to love.


Beyond the energy and the artistry and the food (oh, the food!), I’m also giddy in the city when I get to see this guy—my baby brother and Actor Boy extraordinaire. He’s gonna make it big in the Big Apple. Meet Tim.



I haven’t traveled a ton, but traveling means trying and NYC has gifted me a lot of firsts. My first taste of oysters. My first Lambrusco. My first subway ride.


And, sometimes, I’ll see a show. (Disney Digression time.)


Traveling also makes me want to write. Write by hand, on actual paper. I’ll steal a quiet minute and let my pen go. There, on a page wedged between radio concepts and casting specs, I’ll detail everything and nothing. Sometimes, I’ll write so fast & loose that I can’t even read my own writing.

Early one morning during my first visit to Canada a few months ago, I snuggled in a booth in the hotel diner to write. It’s a 24-hour diner, so there was ketchup & mustard and honey & jam on the table. This was a place of possibility.

Toronto, sleeping just outside the window to my left, was so cold I could feel the chill seeping through the pane. The kitchen to my right was alive with warmth. A man was singing in there—low and silly and free—and I wrote that everyone should sing in the morning. He sang songs, but he sang when he talked, too. Notes instead of words. “The soup of the day is broccoli and cheese,” he sang out to the staff. And I wished he would sing out all the ingredients, too. He sang out with all the pride and joy of the person who decided that today is the perfect day for broccoli and cheese soup. I have broccoli and I have cheese and that is exactly what I’m making, thank you. And I’m going to sing as I make it, thank you very much.

And this morning, in this city, it feels like a sing-about-your-soup kind of day.


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