Here I am

The woman at the ticket counter in Syracuse this morning noticed that my pass is almost expired. I’m sitting in Syracuse, still, waiting on another bus from up North to get here. Oh, actually it seems like they just arrived, and we’re headed east now. Boston-bound.

I sang Breathe Child last night as the last song of the last show of this big adventure. I introduced the song as something I’d written for myself. And, standing alone on the stage with that beautiful grand piano that I attempted to play, in front of the poinsettas all set for Christmas, with the snow falling down outside, and a little girl hanging on my every word… well, I sang my heart out, one more time. And, now it’s time to go home. I actually felt myself tear up. I’ve made one girl cry at almost every show… and last night, it was me. It was for me.

I had an absolutely amazing time in Kalamazoo, too, even though I didn’t end up performing. It was more a re-integration stop, to get used to winter and get acclimated to Eastern Standard Time. I reconnected with the one person I actually remember from the year we lived there, Ms. Heather Crull. We went out and heard music both nights I was there. I especially enjoyed the Brothers Kalamazov. And, she also introduced me to geo-caching. For those of you with GPS units out there, you have to check it out!

I had a brief moment of panic as we trudged out into the snow-covered woods, sun setting, to find a toy in a box in a tree… who is this girl? I thought. How well do you really know her? What are you really going to do in the woods? ☺ But, lucky for me, she is actually just fun and quirky, and we ended up finding the little hidden treasure. Funny little game. Good excuse to trudge out into the woods in the winter!

I decided to rent a car from Kalamazoo to Syracuse. I found a decent deal online, and it cut my travel time down from 21 hours (via greyhound) to about 9 hours of driving – including a 4 hour stretch through Canada.







I got a bright yellow ridiculous looking sporty two-door car that I would NEVER drive. But, it amused me, and it had cruise control. I had burned CDs at Heather’s house to sing along to, and, also used the opportunity to catch up with my mom, who I hadn’t talked to since leaving the Grand Canyon… it was a new level of freedom, as my friend Sarah pointed out. My own wheels!

There was a ferocious snowstorm in Syracuse the morning after I arrived. But, lucky for me, this meant that my hostess got a snow day! So, Tina and her partner, Melissa and I hung out with their precocious and brilliant 3-year-old, Amelia.



Later we baby-sat for two girls from the school, Isabel and Abagail. I haven’t spent much time with kids on this trip. And, not at all since Memphis… so, this was a huge treat for me! We played pick up sticks and Carabou and made cookies for the bake sale at my show that night. I also passed out on the couch for about 20 minutes at one point when they all went upstairs to the playroom.

This bus is packed full of people just like the buses in the south. But, the average age of the rider has dropped to 20, and the average skin tone has lightened several hues. Funny how the bus in the south is for poor black people… and the equivalent economic class in the north is college students. Of course these are generalizations, but having lived on the bus for the last 2 months, I feel that is a mostly accurate observation.

I am completely obsessed with Edie Carey these days… this morning, I woke up with her song, Chemistry, in my head. “Of all the stories I tell myself, please let this one be true” she croons. I have no idea what story I was telling myself, but that line seemed so painful and real when I woke up…

I highly encourage you to check out her music, if you’re not familiar with it already. She has another particularly beautiful and poignant song called Red Shoes on her myspace page. She also recently won a songwriting competition through Paste magazine that will give her some great opportunities… It makes me so hopeful about my own future! It can happen, it can happen. Even for little, independent songwriters like me who start out in Boston. ☺

You have a funny way of measuring success, my friend Beth said to me the other night. Hmm. I guess I do. I’ve been so mournful about this all ending, that I’ve forgotten to realize… I did it. Surrounded by these beautiful trees covered with snow, it’s starting to sink in. I made it all the way out west, delayed the onset of winter, for a few weeks, by hiding out in the southwest… and I sustained myself on music and the generosity of my friends for 8 straight weeks.


Feels like I left yesterday… And, then, all these little moments pop up in my head.

My cousin and her skiddish dog I tried to befriend in North Carolina. Teresa and her son James, and Kim Jones, who I found on facebook, just in time to visit with me in Memphis. The subway in Philadelphia, and the woman wearing a burka that really threw me off guard. New York, and Amalie’s alley-like hallway.

The unexpected trip to Chicago, and the open mic competition. Reconnecting with Jesse, my sister’s friend from high school. Getting to see my sister in Oregon, and find out she still salsa dances! The Mall of America, and magic glasses. The spiciest Mexican food I’ve EVER had in Bozeman, MT. My crazy roommate in Bozeman that woke me up 5 minutes before my bus left. My introduction to nasal cleaning kits by Chris’ crazy neighbor.

The Grand Canyon. The awesome turn out at my god mother’s house, which ended up being the most successful night for me on the road! New Mexico, Dallas. The “inclement weather” (read: rain) that closed the amusement park on the Santa Monica pier. The memory of that sign still makes me giggle to myself. Losing my voice. The beautiful night sky with the Venus and Jupiter in alignment with the moon. Late nights, losing sleep to buses and good conversations. Too much wine. And, so many good friends.

So, many opportunities to be heard… Too, too many nights to remember them all. Flooding in.

Oh, perfect song. Emmylou Harris just came on… She’s singing Deeper Well to me.

That’s what I set out to do – dive deeper. “Looking for the water from a deeper well.”

I was ready for the love, I was ready for the money, ready for the blood, and ready for the honey. Ready for the women, ready for the bell. Looking for the water from a deeper well. Found some love, found some money. Found that love would drip from the honey. Found I had a thirst that I could not quell. Looking for the water from a deeper well.

I guess I can’t really tell the end of this story. It doesn’t end… not here. This is just the beginning. A thirst I can not quell.

So, I’ll just have to say until we meet again... I hope your holidays are happy. Take good care of yourselves, and let it radiate out into everyone you hold close and then to those who you keep further away. Sing your heart out when noone’s listening. And, sometimes when they are. And, make sure you let things get really, really quiet sometimes you can hear yourself. Be attentive when you hear that voice calling. And, don’t hide away from what it says. Just go for it. Every time.

Blessings to you all as we let go of 2008… and peaceful wishes for new beginnings in 2009.

Much love to all of you who have been with me throughout this trip. I’ve felt your presence even when you weren’t in mine.

Jess

PS... Cornelius has found a new use for my suitcase for a while.

Kalamazoo

I came here for a reason...

So, here I am. On my 2nd to last bus ride. Listening to Don Henley…


Forgiveness, forgiveness. Even if, even if, you don’t love me anymore.


What a grueling schedule I made for myself here at the end. I sang at the open mic at the renowned Bluebird Café in Nashville. 52 people signed up to sing between 6-9PM.

Apparently, there are so many people that sign up every week and don’t get to sing, that they’ve instituted a system of “second chance” slips. If you don’t get to sing the first time you go there, you’re guaranteed a spot the next time you come back.
Well, the “second chances” totaled 26 people! So, we were told we only got to sing 1 song each, and the host said she thought we’d get through 35-40. She called all the names the way she drew them out of the hat, and, I was #39!

I drank a diet coke… and split fried chicken and French fries with Katie. Yuck. But, so tasty.

There’s something about diet coke that does not blend well with anxiety. My stomach was a wreck… so I played this game with myself where I tried to focus the energy from my core toward my hands – which were frozen solid for some reason. Blood not circulating, I guess.

I sat there, trying to figure out what I was going to sing. What I was going to take away from this experience… coming so far to maybe be able to sing one song. Trying to enjoy the talent in the room, and to tolerate those whose lyrics were kind of embarrassing, or whose vocals were excessively dramatic.

The highlight of the other performers, in my opinion, was an 11-year-old girl who goes by the name Suite Caroline. She was a second chancer… up from St. Petersburg, Florida, and throwing around bar chords like she was just born with the coordination and strength to play them. Her lyrics were totally age appropriate, too, which I appreciate. She was singing about this girl in her class who stole all her friends.

She did introduce the song by saying it was “a diversion from her typical style.” I nearly fell out of my chair when that came out of her mouth. Diversion from your typical style, huh? How much have you performed at the ripe age of 11, anyway? But, she really was just that good, so she could get away with it…

It feels good to write again. I didn’t know if I would because I’m pretty delirious. For some reason, I just could not fall asleep last night. I finally succumbed at around 12:00 or 12:30. Which is really unfortunate because I had to get up at 3:30 to catch a cab to the greyhound station. And, then the freaking bus to was packed, and by that point I was awake anyway… so, I didn’t really drift off all the way.

I loved my cab driver this morning… though he told me I was brave for walking outside at that time of morning. I was walking out of Katie’s complex, and toward the main road.


Oh – wow! I just saw snow! I haven’t seen that, yet.

Anyway, I thought to myself… hmm. There is no one awake. The only thing to be afraid of is the ducks in the pond, the dark sky and the warm gusts of wind… And, we worked it out. But, thanks for your concern. It’s really sweet, noone’s looked out for my safety in a while.

He then let me ride in the front seat, told me tasteful jokes at 4AM in his thick southern drawl, and walked me into the bus station because the bums standing in the front of the station were particularly aggressive, I guess. I liked him instantly.
Ooh, I think I remember his joke. ☺

He says to me… Forrest Gump was trying to get into heaven. He rolls up to the pearly gates, and apparently the Archangel Gabriel is standing there issuing a test to get into heaven. There are just so many people dying to get in, that they’ve instituted this exam. (wah wah wah. But there’s more…)

Gabriel says, there are three questions Forrest has to answer. 1) What are the 2 T’s of the week? 2) How many seconds are there in a year? And, 3) What is God’s first name?

Forrest decides he needs to take some time and think it over. So, he sits down to ponder. The next day, he goes back to the gate, ready. So Gabriel says, “ok Forrest what are the 2 T’s of the week?” And, Forrest answers, “well, that one’s easy… Today and Tomorrow”. Gabriel says “no, Forrest, it’s Tuesday and Thursday! But, I’ll let that one slide, you can continue with the test.”

Gabriel asks, “How many seconds are there in a year?” And, Forrest replies that he really struggled with that one, but the way he sees it, there are 12. Gabriel stares back in awe, “12 seconds, Forrest?” And, Forrest replies, “Yes. The second of January, the second of February, the second of March…” Ok, ok. Stop there. I’ll accept that.

Now, for the final question, what is God’s first name? “Well, that was easy,” replies Forrest, “Andy.” “What?! How do you figure?” Demands Gabriel. And, Forrest says, “Well, we always sang in church, Andy (and He) walks with me, Andy talks with me, Andy tells me I am...” Gabriel opens the gate… “Run Forrest, Run!”

Hee hee.



Wow… looking out the window, I realize this part of the country makes me unbelievably lonely. Even the trees are silent.

When I was 15, my mom remarried, and moved my brother and I to Kalamazoo, MI with her new husband. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, 1993. We had just finished the fall theater production - Rails, Trails, and Old Folk Tails - at White Station High School in which I played guitar in public for the first time. I would have a recurring dream about that stage for the next 10 years… in which I walked out onto it to perform, and they were in the middle of a show, and I just had to jump in!

The marriage and Kalamazoo were just a blip on our family’s roadmap. We lasted about a year here, and then moved on to Massachusetts where I graduated high school and went to college. But, this journey has brought me a new perspective on that uprooting… and, the subsequent moves that occurred every year until I was 26.

As unsettling as all that was, I was reminded while traveling these last 2 months that I know people all over this vast country that will open their homes and kitchens and laundry facilities to me. That will host people in their homes to hear my music, that will listen to me moan and thrash about over my uncertainties in going home. That will give me wine and tea. That will sustain me.

I must be the luckiest girl alive. So many homes to call my own. At least for a night. At least for a visit.

And, I met all these people because of my willingness to travel and try new things, to be open to people, to making friends, to learning something from every stranger I come into contact with, to being uprooted time and time again… and that all started when I was 15 and dragged kicking and screaming away from all I knew.

I wouldn’t have become who I am without that experience.

And, as lonely as it might be, at times, to be a gypsy… well. I couldn’t have it any other way.

The bathroom mirror has not budged, and the woman who lives there can tell the truth from the stuff that they stay. She looks me in the eye. Said, do you prefer the easy way? No. Well, ok then, don’t cry.


Lots of questions still unanswered. But, if I’d answered all my questions out here, I’d have nothing left to write about, now would I?

Albums still to come, I guess…

Peace from Indiana, on the road to Kalamazoo.

Jess

Beauty is the hook

It’s been so long since I’ve written.

I must admit at this point of the journey, I’m pretty worn out. I’m sitting in my friend’s Sarah and Ragan’s living room. Still in my pjs at 10:30.

The last few shows have been amazing. Las Vegas was hosted by my godmother, Jeanne. Great turnout.



I received the most interesting of advice, that night. “The point of music is to tell the truth. Beauty is just the hook." Hmm. That sounds like a song lyric to me, no?

Then there was Yuma, AZ. I actually got a write up in the local paper, and everyone who turned out was there because of the article. A major shout out to my host, Eileen, for setting up that gig and getting me my first press of the trip! ☺

Then, it was on to Los Angeles, for a show, Thanksgiving, and visit with Andrea.





Once I landed in Los Angeles, and the show was done, I realized how completely exhausted I was. Like bone-numbing exhaustion where you wake up in the morning, but still feel like you’re under water and just can’t emerge, and as much as I resisted the notion, staying in the same place for a week was just what the doctor ordered. I could have slept all week.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, our friends Sarah and Ragan picked up me and Andrea to drive to New Mexico together. Fascinating experience, driving by car. ☺

We arrived on Sunday afternoon after sleeping over that night in Gallup, and then drove back to Albuquerque that night to have dinner and hang out at the token lesbian bar for karaoke.

But, then my vacation was over. Yesterday, I gave a lunchtime show to Sarah’s classmates at the New Mexico School for the Healing Arts.



And, have a show tonight, at Ragan’s bar, the Pink Adobe. It's good to have connections!

But, mostly my thoughts are not of music these days. Performing has become a job. A job that I love more than any other job I’ve EVER had. A job that has been calling to me for years. But, now that the novelty of performance has worn off and the music seems to be running itself, my thoughts and emotions run to other queries.



Someone once told my sister that the way she handles life is to plow right through the middle of things. There’s no pussyfooting or sidestepping. She lives in the heart of intensity and marches straight through the center of whatever lands in her path.

I would assert that this runs in the family. And, I find myself in the middle of a lot these days.

The problem with walking through the middle of things is that, as brutally honest as it might be, and as much as I cherish brutal honesty, sometimes you get stuck in it, like tar – and the truth of the situation gets lost in the details of living it.

You have to beware of the poppy field affect. Don’t fall asleep. Stay alert, keep moving toward the emerald castle, and always be aware of the man behind the curtain.



This is, of course, easier said than done at many junctures. Damn poppies are so intoxicating at times.

I think my poppies right now are people, and, as much as I have loved the visits with those who know me best… I’ve found myself lured by the promises of those who want to help. If things don’t work out in Boston, they say, you can come back here. I’ll help you find a job. I’ll hook you up. You can take the guest house, the spare room, the library.

And, for a minute, it sounds so possible.

I can see myself, my life, in their eyes, in their hopes, in their love for me.

But, I did not leave my life, the familiarity of my partnership, the security of a well-paying job – to be defined by the hopes and dreams and love others have for me.

No, I came out here to find myself, alone.

About two weeks ago, I hit a wall and the pieces began to crumble around me as I realized that I really did not want to go home… the me I found out here on my own, worn out from show after show, a little dehydrated from too much drinking, a little strung out from too much processing… that’s the me I’ve been missing. That’s the me that was suffocating and so, so quiet at home. The me that lives bigger than life. The me that walks, bold and naïve as it may be at times, straight through the god damned center of things.

And, now I find myself headed east, trying to extract meaning from late night talks with friends, glasses of wine, laughter and tears, bus rides and achy shoulders, lack of privacy, and a heart full of determination…

And the questions arise in the midst of it all:

Who will I be when I return?

How is it that I will maintain this level of aliveness?

How exactly do I expect to fit back into my day to day life with all I’ve seen and done? With all I’ve felt? With the connections I’ve rekindled and set on fire again?

Back, home.

Back home.

Back.

Home.

My friend, Sarah, gave me a turtle carved out of wood for my altar back home. A turtle, the longtime totem animal of another dear friend… she owned it for so long, wandering around the country, as she did, her home carried with her in her car and her heart. Now, I see in many ways that she has lain it down, and the turtle has crept into my life, now. Or, I have into its…

I'm reminded of something that happened several days after leaving Boston, I texted my former boss to say that I felt like a caged bird, set free. And, he wrote back, fly girl, fly. And, then asked, did you remember to pack the landing gear?

Those words haunt me now.

Free as I am.

Bigger than life.

Roaming around.

A little tired and worn from the travel, but full of a vigor I thought was dead in me… at my ripe age of 31. Come to find I’ve just only begun. And, not only did I “forget” to pack the landing gear… I realize now that I did it intentionally.

Perhaps I will just hover around my home, perch and fly off again, as needed.
Though, I don’t like the idea of half-investing in something. It doesn’t suit me.

Amidst the fear and anxiety, though, I do find so much excitement, at the same time, knowing that there is another album in the works. I intend to engulf myself in that project during the cold winter months that face me.

Of course, there is the competition in Chicago in January, as well. And, the holidays.
Plenty to keep me awake.

Ah, the future… always taunting me. The future is one big poppy field, isn't it? No place to live.



For now, I’ll do my best to enjoy the last few weeks. The last sweet moments with the ones I love all over the country. The last sweet moments (or hours and hours, as the case may be) alone on my bus.

And, I will find my home, or it will find me – as I am – when my return.

Peace to all of you who've sent me your love and concern at not writing more often! I love knowing you're out there thinking of me. Keeps me from completely flying into orbit. ☺

Love,
Jess