I feel like I just stepped out of a timewarp. This entire past year has been un-effing-believable. One of those that seemed to rush past highway-fast, but then you look back and it feels like you've lived seven lifetimes.
My birthday is in five days. I'm going to be old. Like, getting-so-close-to-30-I-can-tell-that-it-doesn't-wear-deodorant old. Oddly, I feel better about this birthday than I have about any birthday before. It feels like what I'm doing finally makes sense. Like my life is kind of looking how I want it to look. Like the story is turning out.
My Revolution Resolution is to blog more, Facebook less. I bet I had really cool things to say about all the stuff that happened last year, but it's now lost in the seaward-rushing river of the ceaselessly chattering social media.
I'm slowing down for a while. I need to write more. Reflect more. Get back into the space where I can be a lonely novelist lost in her head. I've been performing and schmoozing and Being Cool for a year. Playing at being a rock star is all well and good inasmuch as it furthers The Art, but The Art is always and must always be the important thing. The drisdi and the germ of every action.
I'm still reconfiguring looking into this fall. There's a lot of work to do here in Boston. I've taken a job at Karma Yoga Studio handling special events and community outreach, which I'm actually really excited about. The nonprofit I cofounded this year, Mass LEAP just had its first successful fundraiser and found a fiscal sponsor, and I'm now on the board of Mass Poetry. I'll be helping to plan the Massachusetts Poetry Festival this year, and the first Louder Than a Bomb in Boston.
All this should give me some sort of stability and routine where I can carve out the space to create new work. It's hard to explain the love/hate relationship I have with loneliness. One of the things I love about performing and making music is the community and social aspects of it. When I started making music I was blown away by how much fun it is. It's inherently a social thing, which for a writer is a novel (npi) artistic experience.
But that means that you can't really write, or at least write much or deeply when you're in that performance mode. And if you try to schizophrenically shift back and forth, you'll drive yourself crazy. And of course, by "you" here, I mean me.
I visited my parents in Indiana at the end of last month for my first nonworking weekend in I can't even remember. We went to farmer's markets. Cooked meals. Took a day trip to Bloomington, where I went to college. We ate dinner at the Upland Brewery, which, if I've ever had A Place in my life, this was My Place. I saw my Spiritual Guru (long story, but he bought me my first Tarot cards eight years ago). We even watched TV (and I'm now obsessed with Battlestar Galactica). Then on my second day of relaxation, I developed an eye-twitch.
Thankfully, it only lasted a few days. But Jesus, it's amazing how much more aware of things our bodies are than our brains sometimes.
So I'm home now, and I keep reminding myself, Slow down. Focus. Find the solitary place in the woods or in your room where you can build worlds. Where you can see clearly enough to chisel the truth.
Also, because everyone loves pictures of food, here is the Best Homemade Pizza Ever, made by me and my mom and dad:
It tasted even better than it looks.