There’s no denying it- September is here. The calendar says it, the welcomed chill in the air after the sun sets says it, this Labor Day weekend – the unofficial end of summer- says it too. There are so many beautiful things about the fall and September. I mean, fall is my absolute favorite time of the year. Between the excitement of new beginnings and pumpkin EVERYTHING, what’s not to like?
September also brings other things for me, like the anxious pit in my stomach that’s been there for a while. 2016 has been quite the action packed year for me, and will continue that way until the foreseeable future. Don’t get me wrong – I like being busy. Not busy for busy’s sake, but the kind of busy where the things that keep me occupied make a difference. I’ve even taken on a few new professional roles this year and could mot be more thrilled. The downside of being that kind of busy though comes in August when all my jobs take a vacation (so I take a vacation) and I find myself with empty days and unsure of how to fill that time. 
What usually happens is I get way to introspective and become paralyzed. Without a purpose of somewhere to be everyday, or someone to help – I start to question. What am I doing with my life, why am I here, and the biggest question of all – what is it all for? I spend every day of August surrounded by family and loved ones, taking trips, having incredibly magical moments with my nephew; moments that make me catch my heart in my throat and remind me what’s really important in life. And then I come back to New York. Gladly always, but I come back to no one.  
The questions don’t go away either. I’m beginning to think they never will. A thought popped in my head when I was driving back to NYC that helps. My life is not my own.
 At first, that thought was pretty depressing, not gonna lie. To feel like you don’t even own your life, much less control it? Doesn’t feel good. Then another thought wormed it’s way in – “what a great thing”. 
You see, I truly believe no man is an island (even though I feel like that a lot). I might operate solo, but if I were made up of only myself, I would never grow or learn, and therefore stay stagnant the rest of my days. If I feel drained at the end of the day from giving all of myself away, I know (or at least am trying to learn) not to worry. Every piece of me I have given away, I get back tenfold. When I step on stage, every audience member owns a piece of me. Every voice student has a piece of me. Every person that has eaten a cookie or baked good gets a piece of me because I put all of myself into every batch I make. I’m more valuable when I am made up of fragments and pieces and moments and memories of everyone I’ve ever met or known or loved. We all are. 
My life is not my own, and I am the better for it.