Archive for July

Maybe This Time


It’s odd how January never seems like the new year to me. I’ve mentioned how my birthday is usually my marker for the beginning of a new year, both because July is a more optimistic time than the dead of winter, and it’s in line with my inflated ego to reorient the calendar around me. But there are other moments, my anniversary, the beginning of the school year, and Christmas that also make me pause and think about the year past and the year ahead.

If I had to look ahead right now, I’d be thinking about another year in New York. Another fall that just makes me feel like I’m in When Harry Met Sally, a winter that snows us in just once, a spring that begs for pictures in parks, and another summer sweating in the subway and longing for relief.

The next year is going to see a lot of new projects, and a push like never before to create things on my terms. Working with you has opened me up to working with other partners, and those relationships are beginning to blossom into new ventures that may well be “the project.”

Another year will bring another year of marriage and the wonderful joys and inevitable hurts of a life long partnership. We are also striving to create together, which brings us back to the army days of our friendship working together. This summer’s production of The Last Five Years reminded me of the importance of our creative connection and what beautiful richness that adds to our lives.

My apartment is changing layout and design, I’m changing my diet, having a car is changing our transportation, and the relationships in my life keep changing the creative means I have at my disposal. The next year is going to be one for the record books, no matter how it all turns out.

But why am I looking ahead in the middle of September? What marks this as a moment of reflection and resolve? I’m giving pause right now because in a year we won’t be writing these letters. At the end of this month, we will be finished with this project and moving on to another. I won’t begin to tackle what that means in this letter, but I know that whatever comes next, we’ll still be bothering each other about it every week.

Same time next year?


Best That I Can


I wrote something different in honor of this momentous day, my birthday, but I have scrapped it so I can discuss a lesson I have gradually learned this year. I will preface this by saying if I was a good listener I would have come to terms with this realization nearly a decade ago.

When I was nineteen my oldest sister wisely told me, “Never do anything with the expectation that these kind deeds will come back to you, unfortunately there is no Adair to do this for you.” I know I’ve told you this before but this year it struck me hard. I do not do things to be appreciated, I do not yearn for notoriety. It’s taken me years to acknowledge this, but I am just a good person and a true friend who wants to love those around her.

I am in no way perfect but I am honest with my imperfections, embracing them as part of what makes me the unique woman that no one can replicate.  I use my experiences as lessons, and my life has been full of them. In my twenty seventh year I wrote more than I ever had prior, grew more than I knew was possible, was cheated on, was cared for, made strangers into friends, had adventures, lost people who mattered, fell head over heals in love and then lost that love. It’s been a year.

Yesterday I had another hard conversation, and that lesson finally came into place. In this dialogue I was told how glad this person was to know that people like me exist in the world to which I could only respond, “No, it’s just me.” I didn’t realize how true this was until I said it and I am okay with this.

I am in no way an exception to a rule or some amazing human being that will change the world but I have worked hard to be the best version of me that I can be. So what I take from this last year is that all the moments of these 365 days have made me more distinctly the only Adair that I need in my life.  Here’s to the lessons that fill twenty-eight.

Blowing out some candles,


Sometimes A Day Goes By


July is the month of birthdays. Yours, mine, Harry Potter’s, my father’s, Hugo Chavez, and my wife’s (her’s is today, in fact).  Everyone is getting older.

Each year around this time I write lists of goals for the coming year, make promises or declarations, and just think on the year to come. I don’t usually look back at all. I try to always be thinking ahead. I dream in the future, and I actively try to forget the past. Because I’m getting older and time marches on.

But last night my wife said something that struck me. As the clock turned to midnight and I wished her happy birthday she said, “so ends my twenty-something-ith year” (I have redacted the exact year).  And she had a moment of quiet reflection on the past trip around the sun. And as I so often do, I’m now going to follow her lead.

The end of my twenty sixth year is hurtling towards me like a comet made of cake and cards. And among all the merriment and ruckus celebrating, I feel my declarative nature stirring and the need to remake or reclaim myself in this new, untainted year that lies before me. But instead I’m going to force myself to look back and think on where I have been.

This year was challenging financially, rewarding creatively, and abundant with friendship. The heartaches and anxieties of the world and the terrible things we have witnessed have shaken me like never before. Fear has come knocking, but I’ve done my damndest to give it the boot. But the challenges of the year are outweighed by the blessings, which I think could be said for most of my life, and for that I am thankful.

My previous years lay out before me like old friends waving as you drive off towards new adventures. And over the next week or so I’m going to excavate the years gone by and see what treasure I can find. But for today I think on the past six years since my wife entered my life, and I am glad to be remembering.

Your gift is in the mail,