Today, France celebrates Bastille Day, or as we say in my house, my birthday.
I am not a ‘birthday person.’ I never have been, not that I mind getting older.
The best part of my birthday really isn’t about me.
The best part of my birthday is the anniversary of one of the best parts of my life.
The best part of my birthday is that on July 14, 1980, I found my best friend, the foundation of who I am and how I got here.
Today is the anniversary of the day Carlye and I officially became best friends. Yes, officially. We decided on that day.
I can never write enough about how I was made better the day we met.
I can never write enough about how Carlye and her family made me feel like I belonged.
I can never write enough about how Carlye and I survived New York City and life together:
• being briefly homeless at midnight on October 30, 1985
• living in what we called ‘the hovel’ in a six-floor walk-up on the Upper East Side
• waiting tables and auditioning, and waiting tables and auditioning, and waiting tables and auditioning
• getting to opening nights
• getting through funerals
• getting through illnesses – hers and mine
I could all go on and on. But I’ll leave it at that – for now.
The best part of my birthday is not about ‘me.’ It is about ‘we.’
Happy birthday to me, but more importantly happy anniversary Carlye.
|Carlye and I at a holiday party some year in NYC|