One Year in Amsterdam

When I think back on this week a year ago, it reminds me of the first week in college, or at summer camp. Even though I was 30, had toughed it out in NYC for almost five years, and certainly didn't feel new to traveling alone or in a European city... I felt tiny and vulnerable walking around Amsterdam - my new home. 

My first realization was that I had picked a country where the worlds' tallest human beings dwell (I am barely over 5'). My second was that Dutch is an extremely complicated language to pick up if you've only spoken English and smatterings of French for your entire life. Life challenges: Go!

On June 8th, (my first full day in the Netherlands) I woke up jetlagged and groggy to a few notes Sera left for me, and however many Nespresso pods I could get my hands on. I didn't really have anything to do except settle in, get my apartment keys made, and so on, but I still felt overwhelmed. "The bakery is on Maasstraat. Keys are across from Blokker." Her notes read simply and clearly, typical of Sera, so I set out on my way, day 1 of this Dutch experience, no idea what was in store for me. 

Coming from the routine of my NYC life (wake up, work at 10AM, home around 7, maybe yoga, maybe dinner out, probably some laundry or something, blah blah blah), with its stable income and predictable day-to-day, this entirely new world at my fingertips was something I still can't wrap my head around or describe. It sounds awesome (and, of course, it was), but at the time I just kept thinking... "what the hell am I doing???" I felt like I was skipping school, breaking the rules, rebelling. I was aware of how very far away my entire life was... and if I'm honest, that was the main thing comforting me alongside Amsterdam's insane beauty and the Stroopwaffles on every store shelf.

I have always been proud of my life and what's been given to me, but I was not a happy person when I left the States, and embarking on an adventure this large felt slightly reckless at the time. I had just been suddenly laid off, felt completely rejected by many aspects of my life in NYC, and was very unsure of what to trust in the world. I saw myself, at 30 years old, settling for things that made me feel miserable or helpless. Seeing some truly messed up behaviors in others, and shrugging it off because "well, that's just how it goes..." 

I felt like I was experiencing things that didn't (and shouldn't) fit my life at all. Colleagues in my profession who judged and shamed one another as if they were still in high school. A dating scene filled with self-proclaimed 'ballers' (players), who cheated and lied and shamelessly disrespected women - it seems like anyone from NYC adjusts to that as a dating 'norm', but I could not handle it as a reality of relationships in our culture. 'Words' like 'ghosting,' 'negging,' 'dtf', 'side piece,' and so on were all a part of regular conversation while I lived in that city, and it's sad to look back on now. We laughed when we found out about the double lives led by people who had been intimate with us, because what else would we do? Cry into our drinks in silence? I guess at times we did that, too. I suppose a city that large, with so many mixed viewpoints and cultures, is bound to create a lot of challenges to the dating scene... but what amazed me were the repeat examples of just a lack of human decency, which should be a fundamental concept at this point. These things made my life in NY feel heavy, confusing, and way too complicated.

There are so many things in New York that I love, and I will always think of it as my first home... but when I left for Europe, I felt eager to fully start over. Maybe it was just an end of a chapter that made me 'one, two, step' outta there, but if I'm going to share the motivating thoughts that made me want to find a new way of life, well, here they are (were). 

Well, that, and the fact that I suddenly had months ahead of me to use wisely, and when someone presents an opportunity like "Come to Europe, sing some opera, decide what you want to do from there" and you have severance pay and nothing keeping you rooted ---- you go to Europe. 

Running off to be an Expat wasn't a traditional game plan for moving on, but it actually wasn't even the plan at the time. I just kept thinking 'What better way to strengthen who I am, and what I've done with my life, than to go learn from new worlds/ cultures/ languages??' And that was my motivation. After day one, keys made, connections laid out and a few quick gigs to keep me on my feet, one week quickly led to the next, and the next. Suddenly, I was in a movement class in a Dutch National Opera rehearsal room, and coaching 'Caro Nome' with their Opera Studio vocal coach. I was learning how to mime as part of their opera workshop. I was presenting my materials in the small theater, and then being told over coffee by the director of that summer program that I should stay in Europe and sing. And when a director of an opera program in Europe recommends that you move to Europe to continue singing as a professional ---- you move to Europe. Especially if you already love it there. 

What I have to wholeheartedly celebrate is what happened after those first days and weeks here. The months that unfolded last summer empowered me in ways I had never known before. I kept finding myself walking down the streets to a rehearsal or audition without stress or concern, even when I was running late. If I missed the tram, it was okay, I hopped on a bike. If my friends proposed we go to Spain for a week or London and I could afford it, I went, eager to find out what that would show me. I stopped setting out to 'make something happen,' and I started waiting to see what was supposed to happen. I opted, always, to do what felt best to me. To step out of my comfort zone, as long as that outer area still felt right to me. I started standing up to people who had walked all over me. I stopped holding myself back.

To describe the lessons and experiences of this past year in full would be to sit down and write a novel -- and perhaps I will one day. In spite of homesickness for my family and friends in the US, I found a home here in Amsterdam that I truly have never had before. I fell in love with the streets around me, the pace of the city, the language (as impossible as it feels to learn), the friends I made here, the family I established here, and the person I am, who maybe didn't fit in as well to the home I made in New York, but is who she is because of it.

So, here I go into year two - not just of living in Europe, but of living in this era of my life. I hope that anyone reading this wondering if they can really go after their craziest dreams will consider taking the risk. It doesn't have to be with a full year in mind; it can be as simple as saying "For this month, I'm going to try to make this one thing happen that I've never done but wanted to." For me, that one month led to this blog post. 

Thanks for sharing the ride with me. 

When Your Instrument Is Gone

When I was in High School, my Dad, the music Supervisor in my school, liked to torment me. Or, maybe we tormented each other in that year and a half in Bethlehem Central Sr. High School - I would take so long getting ready for school that he would get pulled over for speeding on the way, and he would show up in my Music Theory classes when I had a presentation, to 'observe' that day. At the time, I'm sure I complained about how uncool this was, but secretly I loved it - especially when he interrupted one of my finals to let me know that I had gotten into my first choice College.

However, as is his way in life, Dad liked to teach me certain lessons in... shall we say, creative ways. I was over-extended with classes, rehearsals for the school musical, applications for college, and my way too important social life, and frequently forgot/refused to lock my violin in its locker in the band room after Orchestra rehearsals during the day. My violin, which was passed down to me and had been fine-tuned many times throughout the years, was quite valuable and expensive and my father made a point of lecturing me frequently to lock it up during the day. "But no one locks their instruments, Dad, and who is going to steal my violin in the middle of a high school during the day?" I would roll my eyes, but then promise to lock it up and continue to forget.

One day, after a particularly crazy load of classes and rehearsals, I went to pick up my violin before leaving school at 3:30pm, and it wasn't there. I could not even remember if I'd put it back in the locker, or if I'd taken it with me to my next period class after rehearsal that day. My eyes scanned the cluttered band room, landing on every instrument and not finding mine. I bolted down the hall and through the school from one classroom to the next in search of my lost violin. After about 45 minutes of racing around checking library, gymnasium, bathrooms, locker rooms, and so on, I finally went to my Dad's office out of breath and said

 "Have you seen my violin?"

The look on his face when he looked up at me meant Doomsday, and I felt my heart sink. A long, tense silence and then: "...Shouldn't it be in your locker where you locked it today?" I shook my head, feeling a sense of dread like no other. "I forgot to lock it." "Then we have a problem." He told me; an understatement. He made me hunt for it again, and I embarked on my search party one last time to find my beloved instrument with no success. He barely said a word to me when I returned to his office empty-handed, and I panicked in the car to my Mom the whole drive home.

About an hour after we got home, Dad showed up with my violin. He had taken it when he noticed I had failed to lock it up like I promised for the 100th time. I was instantly furious, and he cracked a smile, but the lesson was learned and as a result I'm more than paranoid about locking my things up.

Anyway, this memory has played over in my head for at least two weeks now, as I realize I have once again lost my instrument. Over the last few weeks, due to cold and viruses, travel and maybe some stress I've overlooked, my voice is gone, making it impossible to rehearse, other than reviewing my music and listening to recordings. It isn't the first time I've lost my voice, of course, but it's the first time it has lasted this long and even trips to the doctor, allergy meds and as much rest as I can give it are not providing an end in sight.

I realize how much I long for the days when to feel like an adequate musician, I could reach for my violin, tune it, and practice. Even if I was sick with the flu or had no voice, I was able to work on the craft and see results. Of course there were other obstacles involved with violin, and in the end it was not my dream to be a violinist, but right now it is difficult not to feel more than a little held back by my own physical limitations.

What a danger it is to tie ones' career into their physical body - for athletes, dancers, models, performers of all kinds... this is the risk we take. There are risks to all career tracks, but the stress of knowing we have to PERFORM with our physical being when all we want (and need) to do is rest only adds to the infections and injuries we fight.

In the 10 years I've sung opera, I have lost my ability to sing due to allergies, acid reflux, common colds and viruses, recurring strep and tonsils infections, a resulting tonsillectomy, and now: just another virus I have to get over with fluids, ibuprofen and sleep. I stare at my calendar as the days tick by towards my next recital (May 29th), and I wonder where my instrument is and when I'll be able to use it and fine tune it again, and what kind of shape it'll be in when it gets here. It's a very dramatic way of putting it, and the logical side of me is rolling my eyes while I ingest every natural health remedy known to man and wait patiently for things to just run their course.

But nevertheless, today, and possibly tomorrow, I wish I were a violinist again. Or that my Dad could somehow hand me my voice with a smile and say "gotcha!" But I'd never trade places with High School me, and I know somehow this will all seem (almost) as funny as that incident was in no time.

All of the Updates. Let's Go!

How in the heck ...

I feel like I do this every time. I go into the holiday season and think: "I should document all of this - the family times, meals, singing..." I never do. I get tired, overwhelmed, (sick with whatever flu is flying around), and the next thing I know it is Spring of that year.

Anyway, I can sum up most of the holidays I've encountered in the Netherlands in one word: Wine.

Just kidding. (Ish). With each holiday - including my birthday, thrown in there for good measure - there was a dinner party with my closest of friends (and their kids), multiple bottles of wine, and a lot of laughter. Basically, what my idea of celebration has been no matter where I am on the planet.

I'm finding, if you visit Amsterdam for holidays or vacations, you will have a different experience altogether than those who dwell here year-round. Those who live here (Amsterdammers?) tend to have a very low-key way of partying. You can almost always tell when people are just visiting the city, rather than living here longterm, because they are the ones walking in front of you smoking weed openly on the street (those are always Americans, it seems). They're the ones on the tram planning their attack on the city (AKA Red Light District) and which clubs are near which coffee shops, and so on.

Maybe my experience with those who live here is unique to me, but I find that, most of the time, people are happy to have small dinner parties where they laugh and talk, drink a little but not so much that they're stumbling home on the train or crashing their bikes, and in general sort of 'shrug' in the new year or the celebration at hand rather than make a huge deal out of it. It's unnerving at times, if you were born and raised in New York... but I've gotten very accustomed to it.

Christmas was about a million different 'Sinterklaas' holidays (seriously, I felt like I celebrated a version of Santa every day, and I still have no idea what the original story is. All I know is, if you don't know what you're dealing with, you'll think it's QUITE racist...). I sang carols, Disney songs and Strauss all throughout the month - but primarily worked on auditions. It was a trying month because I hit a point where my homesickness was almost overwhelming, and the amount of energy needed for auditions was pretty impossible. I wanted to keep plodding away, coaching rep and hearing constantly conflicting advice about what suits me best, but I was grateful for my time with my silly friends, the stash of 'Oliebollen' we had on hand, and the fascination that is being in Europe during the holiday season.

January came in with a bang (literally). I did not know (though I was sufficiently warned) that people throw fireworks all over the place in Amsterdam the nights leading up to, and on New Year's Eve. Every few minutes, you would hear bangs and car alarms going off, echoing along the streets - more than a little unnerving considering the recent attacks and terrorist threats and blahblahblah. But, I laughed it off thinking "Heh, kinda cool for a tradition - fireworks everywhere! Woo!" -- that is, until I was crossing a street on New Year's Eve and a firework exploded beside me. There is still a layer of my skin on that street corner. (*Metaphorically - I was not at all injured. Just my pride.)

As a person, these months have been intense, hilarious, challenging, you name it. As a musician, it almost seems like I'm not fully in control right now (Jesus take the wheel?). Building a solid, trustworthy network can always be tricky (but I've been lucky to work with many wonderful artists here), each audition teaches me something more about myself, and each application I send makes me feel a little more like a robot. But, the time I get to myself with the music is key. If I could sum up what this year has been so far in terms of my love of music - I would say that it has taught me what a deep love affair it really is. It's the kind of passion that doesn't go anywhere, no matter where I am in my life or in the world. It's filled a lot of lonely days, or helped me communicate with audiences that speak a different language from me, natively. I wish that I could say I know what comes next - another contract, another series of gigs before I head back to New York and resume other work I'm passionate about (writing, digital media, etc.). What I do know is that singing will always be my day to day. It will always be a part of my personal life, just as much as the career track. And, hopefully, it will be even more a part of 2016 than last year.

20 Life Lessons From My Best Friend's Toddlers

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

It's been over 6 months since I first arrived in Amsterdam. I have been living with my best friend and her 2 and 3-year-old, so needless to say, we are all very well-acquainted at this point. I feel like a big sister/ faux-mommy/ babysitter/ Court Jester/ Magician/ DJ... you name it. It's awesome. If I'd wound up anywhere else during this transition in Europe, I'm pretty sure I would have gone back home by now. It can be just as lonely, confusing, nerve-wracking as it is inspiring and wonderful to make a leap to a new city for a year, so I feel lucky that I am making mine with the support of this little adorable family.

My time with these girls is spent playing dress up, singing songs, having dance parties, and often debating the inner workings of inanimate objects. It's silly the majority of the time, and as much as I'd love to say I help to guide them in some logical way while their mama is at work, it turns out that they are the perfect little tutors for me during this quirky time. Lest I forget the unparalleled wisdom of my time with these two little gurus...

 I shall try to compile some of the most important lessons they have shared with me in my life in Amsterdam for you here:  Enjoy.

#1. There is nothing wrong with singing and talking to yourself all day.

2. There are many languages in this world, but hugs are universal. (I should warn you now that some of these will be sappy.)

3. When all else fails, put on a Princess Dress. Run around naked. LIBERATE THYSELF!

Sorry, future Margot and Babette...

4. Never neglect a wish-making opportunity...

5. It is only a Monster if you believe it is. (Or want it to be). This can include, but is not limited to: Sprinkles, the stringy things on bananas and oranges, very tall male strangers in the grocery store line, and/or the family cat. And not all monsters are bad. 

6. A bike can get you anywhere....

7. Reading is important.

8. Sometimes the best remedy is a nap...

9. Laugh it out.

10. Never forget about fashion.

11. A kiss can heal almost all pains.

12. One man's makeup case is another man (or little girl)'s set of crayola markers. (I really wish I'd gotten a picture for this one before scrubbing the green marker full beard off of Margot's face...)

13. There is nothing wrong with striking up conversation with the nearest strangers about how bald they are. (Use your judgment with this one).

14. Hide and "Sook" is an excellent way to pass an entire afternoon when it is too rainy out for the park.

15. There is no reason to worry about what happens next. All that matters is that all the mommies and babies are present in the doll house right now.

16. When in doubt, just make the word up.

'Lekker...?' 'Doolicious?' 'Deeelooosus?'

17. "Please" can get you almost anything. Bonus points for every 'thankss you', too.

18. If picking up your things the normal way is too boring, adding a magic wand can go a long way.

19. There are always good reasons to party.

Pyjamas! Balloons! Monday!!!!

And lastly, (For Now)......

20. Sometimes all it takes is a deep breath to be ready to play again.

What It Means To 'Be Safe'

Clearly, I don't need to go into any description about Paris and what happened there last night. It doesn't matter who you are, or where you are in the world, it shakes us all. It should shake us all.

As soon as these attacks made international news, I received the whatsapp messages from my mother that I expected: "How are you? Hearing the news of France, glad you weren't there..." and so on.  I reassured her that Amsterdam is safe, and my friends and I are completely fine, but the overwhelming theme of the conversation was, simply, "are you really safe?"

And then, what seems to be the most prevalent question of the day today:

"Who is next?"

I'm not safe... none of us is really safe. We are not safe walking down the streets of our cities and hometowns without the weapons that would maybe protect us from AK-47s. We are not safe sitting at restaurants with loved ones without a lock on the door of the establishment and security in place to make sure those entering are not wearing a weapon. We aren't safe on our airplanes, our trains. We aren't safe in concert halls, losing ourselves so much in the music that we don't realize the shots ringing out aren't just a part of the show.

It doesn't matter if I am in Amsterdam, Paris, London, somewhere in Germany, NYC, or just back home to sweet little Delmar, NY. There is a threat to my security just for being alive, being human, and daring to walk out onto the streets unarmed.

I don't mean to be fatalistic or depressive. My point is this: we run this risk to our lives in order to actually live our lives. We have street smarts and learn how to take extra precautions, but the real tragedy is the fear we are learning to cloak ourselves in. No one can strap us into army gear and teach us how to defend ourselves against a bomb exploding outside a stadium where we were just trying to watch a football game. To really be ready for defense, we would have to be anticipating these types of attacks around every corner. And to really anticipate that, we would have to live every minute in fear of it occurring - watching like hawks for any potential criminal behavior, and sacrificing the moments of our lives entirely.

That's what I am most afraid of now. Not that I'll be attacked at Dam Square trying to take in the history of Amsterdam or buying Bitterballen from a street cart. I'm afraid of spending this time in Europe, with newfound and longtime incredible friends and colleagues, looking over my shoulder constantly or hiding from the world. Fear becomes a veil we all start wearing, darkening our view of the world entirely, forcing us to hide from the light.

I am devastated by what happened in the beloved city that taught me who I was 7 years ago. Paris taught me how to be free in my own skin; it was where I felt safest walking by the same streets that had so much bloodshed last night, all by myself. Never once did I look around for someone pointing a gun in my face - I never felt the need to. I am devastated for the lives lost, for the friends there who lost loved ones, and above all, for how this will (has already) change how people look at their safety in that city. But I realize that, as a civilian with very little power over most every day occurrences... there's almost nothing I can do to ensure I don't wind up harmed at some point at the hand of terrorism of ANY kind. There is simply no guarantee, and the best we can do is carry on in unity with the same goal of peace.

So, really, all we can do to survive (and overcome) this again and again is to keep living. For the sake of what it means to really live our lives to the absolute fullest while we have them, knowing that there IS no safe zone, we need to go to our restaurants anyway without armor; without guns and weapons to 'protect us.' We have to walk bravely down the street, taking in the world around us without the veil of fear obstructing our view. We must celebrate our friendships and family and loved ones openly, at stadiums, at concerts, by landmarks. Because to stop doing so, collectively, out of fear, would mean we've all surrendered our freedom and our lives to this monster.

Germany Audition

Last week was a completely new level of audition insanity when I fled Amsterdam to Munich for an audition in the midst of Bavaria. Like you do...

This is where performing becomes a little bit of a contradiction to the rest of my life so far: I have never loved to leave my comfort zone for anything. Suddenly, that is changing by leaps and bounds; nothing ever stays the same. One day I'm running around with toddlers, dancing to the Mulan soundtrack and baking three-ingredient cookies (these are some of my favorite days), the next I am on a train, a plane, another train and a cab to an audition in a country I've never even visited before.

It's by no means a complaint, but just a wee bit different.

So last Thursday I had an audition in Germany. I was one of four sopranos that day, which was terrifying and wonderful because not a single one of us was the same fach. There was a Despina soprano, a Wagnerian soprano, a full lyric (Governess) soprano, and me - a crazy one, who decided to bring Zerbinetta that day. For those of you who are not opera people, and therefore have no clue what any of this means, it basically just means we were not competing for any roles even though we were all technically sopranos. There are many reasons for this, but it took the pressure off a great deal and we were able to just support one another, no knives in backs (as far as I could tell).

I flew into Munich on Wednesday night, heart pounding through my chest, and checked into an amazingly swanky hotel (a recommendation from a friend of mine who is from Germany). I had originally "hemmed and hawed" over the price of this hotel, but had decided that my emotional stability was more important than attempting to navigate my way to a town an hour away from Munich at midnight after my flight. In hindsight, I'm glad I threw a little money at the situation for this place. I settled in, texted everyone that I was safe, put on the big white fluffy robe in my room, poured a glass of red wine (I don't normally drink before an audition), took a long-ass shower and then passed out in the king-sized bed. Obviously not one part of that was outside of my comfort zone.

I slept way TOO well that night, and woke up an hour later than I intended to (still early enough, thankfully), with an imprint of the pillowcase embedded in my cheek. I frantically got ready for life, anxious about the train schedule from the airport, and buzzing and warming up quietly in the room. Another cab ride and then two amazingly simple train rides later, I was in Augsburg, a city that resembled a beautiful New England town to me, and at the same time reminded me of absolutely nowhere I'd been before. It was a perfect fall day - every tree was orange or yellow, and it was warm enough to barely need a coat over my audition dress. But, now came the fun part: I knew I needed to speak German in this house. I've studied enough German to comprehend it easily, but formulating coherent sentences is not as natural to me just yet. I've been told many times that this is a deal breaker for most companies in Germany, so I had prepared what I'd say.

When I finally figured out where the stage door was, I walked in boldly stating "Ich habe ein vorsingen!" ("I have an audition", I think). The guy kinda blinked at me and then said "Wie heisst du?" I gave him my name, proud that he responded in German instead of switching straight to English (I must have sounded sooo German!) Then he handed me two lengthy documents to fill in... with every field in German.

Crap.

I started texting Philip, (said friend from earlier who is from Germany), random questions like "What does 'geb.' mean!??!!" (Geburtstag. Birthday. Duh). I launched Google translate from my phone, shielding what I was doing from everyone around me so they would not catch on...

Another soprano walked in and spoke a flurry of excellent German to the same guy, then sat down beside me. "If you need any help with this, let me know" she said, kindly. My impulse was to laugh and be all "ohh totally unnecessary, but thanks!" But instead I sighed in relief and pointed to three fields I needed her help with.

The rest of the time was amazingly pleasant. I'm used to the New York City audition circuit: everyone sizing you up, a feeling of emotional warfare in the waiting areas where everyone is mumbling to themselves or doing jaw/arm stretches and making burbling, squealing noises like an infant. I'm accustomed to feeling like cattle, being shoved into the audition room, singing for five minutes without saying anything about myself to the judges, and then being brusquely cut off and sent out again. Generally, it's a chilly, insensitive world I've gotten used to. This was nothing like that.

We rehearsed with the accompanists shortly before, reviewing tempi and discussing moments of artistic schmultz we wanted added in. I kept trying to speak German to these people, to which they responded in English, so I finally gave up on the mission (hey, if they're going to opt for English who am I to stop 'em??). Then, it was audition time, and I was last of the four.

I hate being last to go on in an audition setting with. a. passion. I stood back stage watching the three before me, enjoying their performances, while overthinking absolutely everything about my upcoming 15 minutes of fame on that stage. Was starting with the aria from Baby Doe really the way to go? My Mozart was much stronger that day... shouldn't I do that instead? But the pianist had said I should stick with Baby Doe, so I should do that... But then they're going to definitely ask for Zerbinetta, and we hardly had time to go over that...

Zo calm.

Then it was my turn. I was excited and filled with dread all at once (a common problem for me). Hopping on the stage and looking out over the dusty, guilded, gorgeous hall, I saw about four little heads out in the audience. "Ich heisse - " "Julie Norman? Shall we conduct your audition in English?" "Uhm... Okay! If that is comfortable for everyone!"

And so, all prepared German phrases out the window, we began. One thing I noticed was that the pianist was in the pit, where the orchestra normally is. This was troubling because I was way up on stage, singing out over his sound, hearing my own voice as LOUDLY AS POSSIBLE. The piano sounded very far away, and there was a delay. I'm sure this was on purpose, to see how the singers could handle the quirk. But, since we had hardly rehearsed and I was still not fully in my body in the space yet, it was more than a little strange. Still, I loved the space, and I felt as solid as I could in that moment.

As predicted, however, they asked for Zerbinetta's aria next. For those of you unfamiliar with this piece, it is a rhythmically, mentally, musically challenging role that requires you to be very tight with the accompaniment. It doesn't work if that isn't there. So, right off the bat, not being able to really hear the pianist was a ... challenge. We got off twice, at least, and then it was over. They thanked me, I left, breathed a sigh of relief, and then headed to the train.

There is never any way of knowing how these things go. So often the emotion or feeling behind the day is what you are left with as a singer, rather than any feedback or result. For me, I just felt glad to have done it, proud of myself for not getting lost in Germany or showing up hours late, and beyond grateful that this is my life lately. I found a little Bavarian restaurant near the train, got some sausage, a pretzel and a beer (of course), and then was off to my plane tipsy and happy. (And exhausted).

Oh hi, Bavarian food. Get in mah belly.

I look forward to more of this type of experience, but I think what sticks out most to me about this current phase of life is how much it is forcing me to loosen up. It would have been easy at any moment last week, for me to completely fall apart over the details. Finances are tight, I am very far from home, and I miss my voice teacher some days more than anyone else. But, then, at the end of the day, it is just another experience. Whatever comes of these things, what matters most is that I got to sing - something I love more than almost anything else - and I got to witness a whole new way of life in a totally new place. And that, for me, is the number 1 reason to tackle this profession if you have a dream to.

Moving to Europe.

It is full-on fall in Amsterdam. These past two weeks have been suddenly filled with candles, scarves and (light) sweaters. It's been crisp and sunny, beautiful, but at least 20 degrees colder than it was just two weeks ago, when I was in New York City.

I have moved, officially, here to Amsterdam.

WHAT.

So, since my last post, it has been a whirlwind of paperwork, music to learn, emotions and heavy-lifting. I've packed, unpacked, re-packed all my belongings so many times I'm sick of looking at them. On the 24th of August, I hopped on a plane in Amsterdam and landed at JFK in NYC 8 hours later. Even though I was eager to see my family, I decided to spend that first week tying up everything I could to say goodbye to that chapter in NYC.

Being in Astoria, specifically, was a total shock to the system after months in Holland and traveling. In just a couple of days' time, I packed up my room there, attempted to gather all my belongings, figured out a moving van (which, to my parents' shock, I was planning to drive up to Albany at the end of that week. Yes Mom and Dad, I STILL KNOW HOW TO DRIVE.) Thankfully there was Jennie, who was there to take me for runs in the morning, yoga classes, and fill me with nutritious smoothies and vitamin cocktails for the entire week (never mind just being awesome, therapeutic company each day as I battled severe reverse culture-shock and moving anxieties). The day of my actual move, she challenged me to run all the way into Brooklyn to pick up the moving van (we ran 6 miles there), then she helped my parents and I lug all my boxes into the moving van for the rest of the day. Did I mention I owe her my first born? Yeah.

Truthfully, I didn't get to say goodbye to as many of my friends as I originally planned. I'm not sure if this is common knowledge, but moving outside of the country is... complicated. I felt 145% sure that I wanted to move here, but in case it isn't already established by the very existence of this blog, I am a sentimental woman. I love my family. I loved my years in New York, and all of my friends made there. Sure, I was ready to move on in this moment, but the endless list of to-dos (including things as nutty as tracking down my original Birth Certificate in my birth town all the way upstate, and then having the State apostille it so I can get residency, about 50 documents to fill out, some in Dutch, a police background check on myself, and so on...) made the act of meeting up with everyone I wanted to see somewhat impossible. Two weeks is nothing. I had some excellent heart to hearts before doing so (only a few of which included me bursting into tears like a crazy woman), but there was no way to prepare for how surreal it was all going to feel.

Dinner with Dad  (and Mom, not pictured) = instant therapy

 Luckily, I had the second week with my family up in Albany. I was irritable, energetic, list-making, and eating them completely out of their home, but at least there I knew I could turn 'off' a little and actually get ready. Mom was there to help me pack and think of the practical things I would not have otherwise. Dad was there to get me on my bike and ride across town with him. The last two days I visited my brother at his apartment, swinging on his porch swing at sunset with a beer in hand, feeling, somehow, better and more emotional all at once. Then it was off to my older sister and her husbands' for lunch the next day, where they pep talked the crap out of me and reminded me that this was, in fact, the right call.

I told you it was complicated.

I love my siblings, even if they stole the height in the family.

But, once the plane landed in Amsterdam and I was greeted by friends and little toddlers I love so much here... I felt better. Now, it's a life filled with performances, auditions, and seemingly endless musical preparation. I take long bike rides, and the days are filled with more Disney, dance parties, Stroopwafles, games in the park, and rehearsals at night. I am home, somehow. Homesick for my friends and family always... but home in this strange, foreign, incredible world.