This weekend I learned of Paul Ryan Rudd's death.
A few years ago, I had a bit of an identity crises. Chris was working a six-month regional gig and I was having a hard time settling into a job that was proving to be the wrong fit. Being "the actor's wife" was difficult and New York City was wearing thin. Then into my life walked Paul Rudd, a gentle soul with the heart and spirit of a man ten times his size and the energy of a man 30 years his junior. Paul, then a professor at the New School for Drama, and I traveled together on business and in three days time we became well acquainted. Both walkers and early risers, we explored the streets of San Francisco hours before our work began. In the evenings we told stories over bowls of pasta and browsed the shelves of City Lights Bookstore. He introduced me to Alice Munro. I recommended The Gathering. During a time where I seemed to question everything, Paul had answers. And he assured me that the hypnotic pull of the stage paled when lit by family and home.
He was right.
Thank you Paul for your wise counsel and kind words. You will be missed.