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
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