in transit

leaving was hard.

i can't even explain fully how much this trip, at this particular moment, cuts deeply into the heart of some of the biggest things that scare me: being alone, being imperfect and unskilled {excusie moi, parlee voo ainglis? – spelling is intentional here}, not earning money for 5 weeks, not having a home or even a small space to claim as my own. being alone. that one counts twice. and cumulatively, they cast a shadow across the final week before my departure. a shadow that took over and spilled out of me once i finally had a place to share it: an open heart to listen, nod, hold me gently across a phone line. two actually. the same kind spirits that were there at the end of packing up my life into storage back in july. my mom and my brother, standing by me once again, even if not on a sidewalk and in physical form tonight.

so wednesday i got on the plane, equipped with two last minute additions that were so aptly chosen for me by a dear friend: a compass so i could find my way back and a little red travel journal. perfect size, perfect color, and an unexpected reprieve from having to finish binding my next journal before my flight the next day {i finished filling my last one on a beach in hawaii}.

but somewhere in the middle of the flight, the fears burst in my chest once again. maybe i chose the wrong song, or maybe the right one, but suddenly i'm in tears turning out toward the window, away from my seat-mate and i looked out blindly into the dark sky we are traveling through and saw a shooting star. but before i could even grasp the wonderment of the timing, i realize that the shooting star's path pointed directly towards some strange looking clouds. very vertical. very glowing. and as the awe of catching a shooting star swept through me, as the tears hit harder, i realized i was seeing the northern lights. something i have been waiting all my life for.

i looked out and stared for over an hour, the song still on repeat, as we slowly passed through them, these glowing formations so calmly suspended. they were not trying to get anywhere, as clouds often are, but just merely being. breathing. it was incredible.

i held a pillow up to the window to block out the glare, ignored the damage i might be doing by craning my neck for that many hours, and simply took it all in. i lost track of counting the shooting stars somewhere around 7. they were generous as well.

i've always felt a strong certainty that this trip is exactly what i needed to be doing at this exact moment for this exact length of time and that, in their own way, the fears are an indication of that rightness. they are the gatekeeper between me and the person i can challenge myself to be and they won't keep me out. they can't. they're merely reassurance that i am in fact doing the right thing.

but what greater gift, what greater sign from the universe could be given in support of this grand adventure than by so effortlessly, so gracefully surprising me with a bit of magic and wonder and heralding it with a shooting star to boot?

departure

tonight panic swelled to a tidal wave, crested and swept over and around me, caressing my shoulders, brushing my hair, holding me close and reassuring me with those simple words i have fought long and hard these past weeks to ignore: i am alone.

i finish this journey, the time period of nomadacy as i began it: alone.

and reflecting back on the eve of the final chapter of this adventure, i want to revisit a few things i wrote here as i began packing up my life. it's an entry called to build a home.

first, silly me, i thought i was going to be a nomad for 3 1/2 months. by the time i return from europe, it will already be twice that amount {though when i first got my P O Box and realized i had to choose 6 month increments, i had a flash of insight that i would need the whole lease}. and secondly, this image from a run so many months ago that still holds true for me both in the rightness of where i am and in the alone-ness. the two go hand in hand.


on my run this past sunday, i had this fleeting moment while looking down at my shadow bouncing along in front of me – it was this undeniable feeling of certainty about being in the right place at this moment and how being alone right now is a significant part of that rightness. i am finding myself and what's under the layers of build-up on my body, spirit and home and while i feel very loved and supported heading into this adventure, i am also alone on this journey and that is right in a way i can't quite gather up enough words to explain.


and finally. this song. still a theme of the year and of this time. listen again:

and now, it's time to leave and turn to dust....

nomad night 162

and i'm quite proud to report, the first night i'm sleeping on a couch since giving up my apartment. not sure what europe will bring exactly but that's a whole other category of standard of accommodations as i truly will be a nomad at that point.

but tonight, it's me and the christmas tree and quite a bit of serious thinking i can't seem to shake. though i did have a lovely few hours of meditative pacing with a sleeping baby cuddled against my chest {who would wake up every time we put her down}. gentle figure eights with my hips and a rhythmic patting on her back did as much for me and settling my restless spirit as it seemed to do for her. 

yes, relax, nathania. breathe. and enjoy the abundance of the last few days in seattle before your next adventure. 

~nomad nate writing from covington, washington.

another earth

i will be thinking about this movie for a long time. not only is it a beautifully told story, but the lead is also a co-writer and producer and its budget was $200k. 

suddenly making something beautiful doesn't feel all that impossible.

now go see it. 

my city

and in a week i will leave the last thing i have had left to called home these past six months.

a true nomad

after waiting more than five years to return to europe i find that i am eyeing my emmenant departure with more panic than a never-ending to do list warrants.

and tonight i realized why that is.

starting next wednesday, i become a true nomad. i won't have any place to call my own or my car to ensure independence. i will be a visitor wherever i go at the mercy of my generous hosts and the grace of language barriers. and what's more, the source of my panic revolves around the fact that i will be cutting myself off from the familiar cornerstones that i have relied upon these past months. in lieu of having my own home i have tethered myself to my routine, my job, my income, my community and the familiar sights and sounds of my city.

on wednesday, i am truly cut free. free of the things of my life, even the small collection i have been carrying from place to place since july. free of the knowledge and confidence which i know my city, know where the side roads lead, where grocery stores are and which foods are allergen free. free of obligations. free of work. free of the relationships, though, yes, i will try take a few of you with me as much as i am able, as much as you let me. but you won't be there, with me, reminding me of where i should go, who i am and who i want to be.

and that, i think, is the final phase of this nomadic chapter. the final challenge all the previous challenges of the last five months have been gradually preparing me for both literally and metaphorically*. and as i sit here, on the darkest night of the year, i feel much like i did that night in july after putting everything into storage, when all i could do was sit crying on the curb in my car with my mother and brother standing gently nearby.

this is ground zero and i have no idea what i am going to build in all this wreckage. somewhere, somehow i am being sent reassurances that it will be beautiful. that it will be grand. that this kind of bold, courageous gesture will only be rewarded in kind.

please, please dear god. please. let there be something on the other side. the other side of the flight. the other side of the trip. the other side of this year. i only have so much courage and i only have so much hope.




*because i have been a nomad these last six months i have accrued a bit of savings that have allowed me to pay for this trip.

outside in

in some {many} ways the journey of the play proof took me lengthwise through my failure complex {which not so coincidently walks hand in hand with my perfectionism} and i am still recovering from the residual beliefs reinforced by that internal onslaught. in light of the lingering effects, it was perfect timing for these images to surface a few days ago from tara & nathanael's wedding i attended this fall. 

they capture me at just that perfect moment of unconscious and unknowing grace. that place of beingness that warrants so much more self-compassion than i am usually able to give on a good day, much less on the other side of two months of internal abuse. 

so helping me return to return to the tenderness and compassion my soft, six foot machine so richly deserves, here are two photos from the amazing photographer who documented the day, jeremy leffel. 

and with a touch of irony 1. i have always believed myself to be awkward and clumsy on the dance floor and 2. of course, i always choose to be behind the camera or manning it for self-portraits because i believe i'm the only one who can find good angles on my quirky features.

lonely & me

i recall loneliness from my childhood like a dear friend. we spent a lot of time in each other's company tucked away in a bedroom, meandering about our alabama-backyard, telling secrets, listening to whatever stillness we could find, and always and forever hoping for more.

as an adult, however, i'm proud to report i'm a bit estranged from my old pal, lonely. but he does come to visit on rare occasions, sidling up to me in a dark car parked in front of the apartment, fog insulating me from the world, my mind milling about around me like a flock of birds. and then suddenly he's there, quietly expectant, noiseless and persistent, scattering my thoughts as they take refuge in the sky.

tonight was one of those nights it was just lonely and me, sitting in the cushioned quiet of jasper – but rather than intruding on the space i had just made savoring the final measures of a song, he joined me without taking anything away. my heart was pierced by his tenderness as he perched sideways in the passenger seat staring back at me with calm eyes, listening to every silent sentence running through my mind.

sadly, he never seems to come with answers in his pocket, merely a little space and always and forever hope.

nightmares

every anxiety dream possible paid me a late-night visit last night. the only thing that didn't show up was a relationship nightmare {oh wait, that was the night before} or a spider nightmare {thank god!}.

it started with the sky scraper. we were at the top and someone had to jump into a helicopter. they were afraid. of course they would be, we're at the top of a tall building {think columbia tower}. i wordlessly volunteered to create a bridge with my body from the floating platform next to the building and the hovering craft {and said floating platform shifted and bobbled really uncomfortably}. the person scrambled over my body into the helicopter and i was left spanning the space with all that height below me thinking oh shit oh shit oh shit don't look down how! do i get back up?!?!


then there was the dream about the policeman. a speeding car. flashing lights. someone else driving but we're caught. fear.

then there was the never-ending dream about the final night of proof. except this final show broke down so far that the audience had to get up out of their chairs and crowd the stage because the lighting was malfunctioning and they couldn't see us otherwise. but wait, then something went wrong back stage and we all had to evacuate to the stage then bring all of our props to the front of house and it ended with a discussion of extending the run so the crowd could see a real final show or just canceling the show altogether.

then there was the work dream. orders i needed to place. pressure.

the traveling dream where i was milling aimlessly about the world, lost & purposeless.

the money dream. needing to go provide a side dish for a party and a really fancy dish was suggested by a wealthy friend {think truffles and caviar} and i didn't have the money.

then there was the person that tried to steal my wallet. there was a fumble. he missed and started running. a chase ensues. he shook me off but i later found him, cornered him and took him to security where he promptly started lying to cover himself and make me look bad.

the night continued. i am sure there were more in there.

proof

the cast party was tonight and we were all {mostly all} there. and still, the bitter side of the bitter-sweet ending i faced this week has yet to eclipse the steady momentum forward and i'm beginning to hope that maybe it won't. yes, i am sorry to say goodbye to the project, sorry to not slug myself up four flights of stairs after a long day at work to playplayplay, sorry not to stretch myself into new shapes and spaces, and sorry not to be a part of a beautifully tight-knit family of fellow creators on a project so much bigger than any one person.

but more so than i would have thought possible, i am just calmly moving forward, grateful for all that proof was for me, accepting it for what it was and wasn't, and greatly anticipating the next phase of my life that will probably shock the hell out of me as much as this past year has.

segue: i had a lovely night last thursday night. went out to see a friend, guide and art mentor perform his music. the last time i had seen him was in the beginning of september at wedding camp and at the end of the show as we sat down in the soft gloom of the columbia city theater and i gave a list of the things {tangential of course} that had happened since i saw him on labor day weekend:

ran a half marathon
saw bon iver
started a theater company
rehearsed a role
saw portishead
ran a successful kickstarter campaign
ran an 8 show performance run
booked a flight to europe

and i managed to both work and sleep somewhere in there. sometimes.

so let me breathe a second and tell you about the show.

it was hard. it was hard. it was very hard. for almost the entire show, maybe even as far as through the last show, all i could see in the role was the work i had yet to do: the work i knew in my heart how to do but couldn't let myself sit down, focus and explore. yes, i'm talking about that nebulous thing called the actor's homework and it's what i spent 9 months learning how to do and in those 9 months, i did it very well. despite the fact that i finished meisner almost two and a half years ago, i have a good memory and know exactly how to get to those tough, hard to crack places inside myself, but frustratingly, for most of this run, i wouldn't let myself go there. the gatekeeper, that voice of paralyzing self-criticism was just too. damn. strong.

which isn't to say i didn't have moments of progress. usually they were out on a run around greenlake. for almost two months i was the crazy girl, face contorted into some sort of expression at odds with my steady pace, often enough in tears or just about in tears as i made paths into the places catherine needed to feel, created memories and made discoveries.

i know i wasn't able to bring all the rawness i could create in myself to the stage, i know i wasn't able to find and live certain key experiences she had as well as i know i am capable of, but this is also something very important i realized this week: this role, as lovely and beautiful and challenging and seemingly perfect as it was, this role did not have to be a standing-ovation-hot-damn-give-this-girl-an-oscar-already role. it was simply a start – a milestone on the path i'm walking. a milestone to mark that i am doing something i have wanted to do for decades – my whole life really – and the important thing for me was merely to start and learn as much about myself as an actor as i possibly could. and i learned a lot. apart from the running, i also learned music is a huge key for me as well as sitting down and writing three pages of free association writing before getting any work done. bypass the gatekeeper. tap into the source and a sense of free flow. find that ideal, relaxed space of creation.

and after all that, also {hopefully} learn to extend as much grace to myself as i possibly can along the way and through the aftermath. and here i am, a week into the aftermath, still trying to process it all.

a significant part of the letting go process has come from a few particular voices that have given me more words beyond you were awesome {which are valid and kind but generally unhelpful in that same way i like it was frowned upon in critiques in art school}. it started with my sister's response to the play. she came to see the play on closing night on a rare night away from her daughter, my 4 month old niece, rosie. i know several aspects of the story would hit home for her, in fact had been aware of the parallels during my own acting homework, but was somehow still unprepared for how deeply she was moved. and not just by the story, which, in and of itself, was almost too perfect for her, but also by me, as an actor. on that night she realized that acting isn't just playing pretend and that there is a deep and subtle art and vulnerability that opened an entirely new avenue of understanding and communication between the two of us. so we just stood there, hugging and crying together, resonating in the impact we were having on each other, in tears in front of the rest of my family and the lingering crowd of closing night. and here i was in the middle of the cathartic, two spirits connecting, transcendant experience i hope to create on a broader, more universal scale as i move more and more into my art.

the next day i was able to spend a little time at her house further absorbing her experience. in her excitement, she reflected back to me her understanding of the story, her perception of catherine, and by default showing just how invested in catherine's story she felt. what was perhaps the most satisfying was to hear all the small things i had realized or decided early on in the creative process that i thought i had somehow neglected to bring to the part were actually there all along without me having to force anything. catherine quite literally had a life of her own, will continue to do so in our memories, and even through she came into being through my imperfect instrument, it was still one capable of creating something here.

and i guess i'm trying to say that somewhere between my sister's closing night response and her reflection back to me the next day, i have oh so slowly worked toward the realization that i did in fact accomplish something here. on this first show, in this first role, i moved someone as deeply as i have been moved standing in front of thom yorke and i am grateful and i am humbled even if it's just one person.

so all along, the desire for some sort of proof that this is the right path, that i am capable and talented as an actor, all those reassurances that i have sought my whole life about my path as an actor and my deep, scary desire to be an actor, they are all for naught.

i feel the lines i give toward the end are fitting:

catherine: ...all that stuff you just decided with your buddies, it's just evidence, it doesn't finish the job. it doesn't prove anything.
hal: so what would?
catherine: nothing. you should have trusted me.


so i have to look forward, not asking for any more proof in one direction or another, eyes forward, spirit humble and vulnerable and revealed and a trust that i am headed in the right direction, wherever that might be.


trust. yes. you are the key.

nomad nights 144 to 146

i am in a new place – in so many ways. 

tonight, physically, it's a new bed. i get to spend a few days in the apartment of one of my best friends while she's off wedding dress shopping in texas. i get to be in the wedding. a bridesmaid for the first time. i am beyond honored, beyond excited, beyond happy for the two of them and the fact that i got to witness their story unfold from day one. from the moment before zero when she didn't even know who he was nor who he would become. just a housemate with niiiiiiice arms arriving from michigan.

and i am grateful for a few nights in her bed. an empty apartment. space i can stretch out and be alone in with all this dearly bought free time. i want to attempt to put into words some of the flurry rushing through my head as i turn the page to the end of the chapter that was proof.

too much for tonight.

i'll leave you with a quote from a new addiction: the tobolowsky files. a podcast on life, love, and the entertainment industry as told by character actor stephen tobolowsky. more on him later, but this particular bit jumped out at me today in regards to my own story:


even though my life was speeding ahead of me, i had fallen back into the moment before zero once more. the moment that redefines everything you are and everything you do. i was at the beginning of a new act one. it took me 38 years to understand that in life you only tell the story, you don't write it.

episode 43.

~nomad nate, writing from eastlake neighborhood, seattle, washington.

good bye

today i needed to remind myself that what feels like an ending is merely the sun rising on the other side of the horizon.

catherine

closing night. a reconciliation between hope, reality, failure, and completion.

catherine, my friend, you've taught me so much.

i leave in a few minutes so we can meet again. one more time.

you're on in five

goshen

in another life i could have been a singer/songwriter. in the meantime, i'll enjoy the perfect delivery of others. today, zach condon & beirut. i thank you for your words and melody.

You're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
They've gone before, stood by your door all day.
For what it's worth, defend your kind from shame.
The lights are down, go on inside, they've paid.
You're the face in stone, through the land I own.
You never found it home.
You're not the girl I used to know.

What would you hide from such a glow
If I had only told you so?

You're on in five, it's time you rise or fail.
They've gone before, stood by your door all day.
But you never found it home.
A fair price I'd pay to be alone.

What would you hide from such a glow
If I had only told you so?

things fall apart

and what can you do?

one step in front of the other.

i'll tell you about it more from the other side

once we all make it.

back to black

i dyed my own hair for the first time tonight. no watchful eyes behind me, making sure all the roots are covered, no gentle hands massaging my scalp for me while i sit backwards on the toilet. just me, six feet of pale skin and impossible soul by sufjan on repeat in the background.

i wanted to document my boldness staring back at me from the mirror, but somehow could only really manage the softness with any sort of accuracy.

then i went, and after one final set of second guesses, purchased a flight that will take me to europe for 35 days. i am filled with equal parts excitement and terror.

rosie

i have been remiss in posting photos of my niece. partly because, like the old adage says, the cobbler's children are always without shoes and the photographer's niece without photos. but do i get them here and there between bounces and cuddles and too infrequent visits and here she is today, nearly 4 months old.

a little tired, a little run down and in a darker space than i have been....well...since i moved out in july. not sure why exactly it's been rough {hello! massive amounts of stress at the moment?}, but it has, and so a little baby cuddles and smiles were perfect today. it doesn't get much better than staring down the pure blue eyes of a four month old having her look back with calm contentment and the occasional lopsided smile. silent confessions were met with an uncoordinated grasp for my cheek. she held my face for a while. baby therapy. a beautiful evening.

 

3am

i am afraid.
i am afraid of failure.
i am afraid of the next two shows, of not improving, of not taking the time to deepen the character as i know i can. as i know i should. the lines. go over them again. find a new softness. vulnerability. there are so many layers to this play that i see so clearly, but can't seem to create. i am a beginner but at least i've begun, right?
and i'm afraid of my eating habits – that they will stick here, regressed by a few years, maybe more. contemplating dark thoughts. worried that i'll loose all the progress i made this summer. size six is so close....
i don't know what the hell is going on. where is all the progress i've made since july?
i am afraid of having been caught red handed and shame-faced.
i am messy.
i am better than this.
i am tidier.
i am more relaxed.
i am stronger.
i am more together.

except i am not. at the moment at least.

so what's up, nathania? seriously.
my dear, my darling. where is your self-softness? where is your strength? 
you know it's quietly waiting, buried under all that criticism you're lashing about. 
a strength so tangible and expansive merely brushing up against it reduces you to tears. 
so what's wrong?

i am afraid. i am afraid. i am afraid.

but that's always how i know i'm on the right track. it's how i know i'm pushing the understood boundaries of myself. here be danger. uncharted territory. lack of sleep. pressure. decisions. important decisions. where to store my things for the next two and a half months, where to travel in europe. how long? can i afford it? is it good enough? am i good enough?


nathania. 

yes?

relax, please, and be grateful. grateful for the challenges of your existence. grateful you're not perfect. grateful you have a place to grow surrounded by people who will be gracious with your messiness. your imperfect words. your shame. your impatience. your inability to accurately articulate the things you are seeing. no, you are not blind. yes, you are right. but you still need to relax.


okay. inhale. yes. thank you. i am stepping back from the ledge, gripping the cool brick of the wall behind me. feet planted on the ground.
grateful.
grateful.
grateful.
i am so grateful for my fear. for the directions it makes me turn. for the fact that it pushes me.
i am grateful for my running gear, my long limber legs that will bring my body back to itself. i am grateful for the courage of those who love me best. i am grateful for my family and the lovely gathering we will have tomorrow. i am grateful for the job i get to do, that supports me better than i ever have been supported before with coworkers i enjoy. i am grateful for this holiday season of family photos. for the fall. for the new coat i haven't quite convinced myself i can afford, even though i know it's an amazing piece of textile and a long term investment in warmth and wardrobe {and i'm in love with it already}. i am grateful for hope, for patience, for these messy times when i am at the edge of myself.

i welcome grace. i welcome grace. i welcome peace. i welcome grace.


happy thanksgiving.

11.11.11 – my white birthday

symmetry in numbers has always been something i've noticed. patterns, repetition, progression – i love it all. so, to get the chance to celebrate my birthday {which is an unassuming 10.26.82} on 11.11.11 was something of a numerical gift of the universe. a tribute to the balance and stability i hope to step into as i enter the last year of my 20s and absorb the strength that saturn return has bestowed upon me.

last year my closest friends both locally and around the world came together to give me color and build me wings and what a year it has been. the theme of flight woven tightly through some of the most profound moments. it began with that amazing vision i had on my run this spring in sync with the lyrics and one day, i am gunna grow wings – revealing in my spirit a rare moment of acceptance of myself, struggles and all. and while the image of flight is literally represented in the song, it also lives in that rhythm i have spent hundreds of miles savoring as i cemented my love for running this year. 

and it was running that delivered the next experience of flight this year. even before the amazing release i experienced at mile 11 of my half marathon, i had a moment, at mile 8, when i pulled away from my little brother and told myself i am going to do this – i can come in sub-two hours. i can do this. i can do anything. and suddenly there was a rush of adrenaline and focus that filled me beyond full, rushing down my back and causing the muscles across my scapula to ripple in anticipation. and even while this is all going on and i was registering the emotional and physical events happening simultaneously, i spared a quick thought for humor's sake to acknowledge that if i had wings, they'd be coming out of the part of my back shuddering as though i was trying to take flight.

the third and most recent experience of flight was the breakthrough i had in singing not too long ago. at the time i even named the blog entry flying because that is what it felt most like in the moment – this clear sense of soaring effortlessly. it was like i imagine a bird to feel in that freewheeling space where any direction is not only possible, but easy, and connected to a deep internal strength of ligaments and muscles so perfectly designed to do exactly what is needed. that strength, that knowledge, that potential, i have had all along despite all the times i have told myself otherwise.

and the flying, the acknowledgement and acceptance of own strength, as i am learning, is so often accompanied by grief. a purge. a release. as they come at greater frequency, i hope for myself that i will hit the bottom of that well of self-doubt and find something new to channel.

in the spirit of that hope, for my birthday this year, i wanted to welcome a sense of lightness, freedom and purity into the equation, take the wings you all so colorfully presented me with last year and strip away everything to its purest elements: light, air, weightlessness, luminescence and flight. 

so i gathered to me some of the clearest voices in my life {those darlings that are local} and together we infused the next year of my life with these elements. a benediction of white and light and adventure and play and connection to those things rushing toward me from my future: the cumulation of my efforts on proof, of travel, of settling into a new home, seeing radiohead {in march} and of finally getting to go to my hometown. 

a fitting welcome for the new year.

  

nomad nights return {119-120 & 127-135}

in a lovely bit of symmetry, i find myself retracing my path and revisiting the first two places i spent my nomadic nights in, but in reverse. last weekend found me in the same spot i spent nights 7 to 9 and this next week i'm sleeping in the same bed i spent those first 6 nights.

i remember that last day in my apartment and first night completely cut free and alone....the anxiety around moving my heirloom bookcase with glass doors, the stress of day in general, that final load of all my lovely things, closing the door of #44 for the last time as mine, saying goodbye to my moving crew {of dear friends who put up so well with said stress} until it was just my mom and brother who lovingly witnessed me crying by the curb of the magnolia house that has so wonderfully stored these things since. the sloughing off. the irrevocable starting of a new phase.

and here i am, about to enter the final pages of my nomadic life and very gently being reminded by this symmetry to look back and mark my progress. it was lovely having lindsey jo here this weekend {for so many reasons but also} to reflect back the changes i have made since she last saw me this summer, in the weeks before the cleanse, before the move and before everything shifted. i think it can be summed up in one sentence she said: you're less type-a.


hallelujah! sweet progress.

this time has allowed me to relax about cleanliness, relax about needing a perfect space, perfect quiet, perfect boundaries. it has allowed me to go with the flow, save significant amounts of money {some to be spent on further nomadic adventures in europe!}, explore new neighborhoods to jog in {covington, discovery park, green lake, ravenna, hawaii} and generally learn to go with the flow. be more gracious toward myself and others.

and now i'm planning my ultimate nomadic experience: a month in europe traveling from country to country, adventuring, playing, letting go, letting free. spending a month not working nor searching for a job for the first time in years. and as much as i know it will be hard to come home again from that, there will also be the excitement of seeking out and finding my next home and that puttering joy around making it my own.

dear, home, my next one...you are close to me tonight. i feel a tenderness toward you and even find myself on craigslist looking for you knowing you won't be appearing just yet. not yet.

soon, but not yet.

nights 119 & 120 back in the sammamish highlands.

nights 127 to 135 back in magnolia...

this room has gone through some nice changes.

~nomad nate, writing from magnolia, seattle.

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and this is the blog's 800th post. happy 800! and thank you all for following along.

first two nights

it's strange how un-nervous i was. the anxiety and worry, the restlessness i would expect, they simply weren't there. a little bit of oh shit, we actually have to do this! and a thought or two about whether or not all the lines are memorized, those sorts of things eeking into my brainspace, but otherwise, a steady calm i didn't expect.

i wish i could bring you in more on this journey, to share and preserve what is happening. i wish i could tell more stories. i wish i could find feelings and words for these first few days – these first few shows – of such significance to me....but i can't. and while on some level, i would say i don't have the time or energy, i think on another level entirely, i am cut off from vulnerability of the bigger picture, engrossed instead in the daily tasks of putting up show, running it and then taking it down again each night and goinggoinggoing for seven days straight.

my story is drowning in details.

i will have time. i will find my way back into the bigger picture, the massive victory, the bold and beautiful move that this production is for me.

but tonight, all i can think of is sleep. sweet, sweet sleep. and an overwhelming gratitude for the people who have flocked around me, offering their enthusiastic support. my friends who have come to the show so far {yes, you, sea-oh, megan, eden, michael, spring, jp, justin, julie, lj, lj, lj! bob and michelle, jon, amanda, josh, chris...}, those from afar who have spanned the distance with emails, phone calls, texts, facebook messages, all with such simple and earnest support. and even before, all the people who came together for kickstarter, who have witnessed me work for months, spill over in frustration and exhaustion....you are mobilizing around me and giving me such care.

but there is one person in particular....i have to mention this one moment. opening night done, the crowd mostly scattered and one person steps forward to give me a familiar smile. i automatically smile back the smile reserved for a deardeardear friend. then my face fell and i practically shouted what the fuck are you doing here??? our gaze locked, the words spanning between us, a net to catch the tears that followed the rush of sound. my dear lindsey jo who was supposed to be in FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA and who had flown in 6 hours before in order to see my show opening night.

that was how big it is. this moment. this step for me. and to have her there, acknowledging it, sharing it, pouring into me all the love and support, the surrogate for all the faraway friends and family that couldn't come...

i am overwhelmed.

i am grateful.

lj and her sheepish smile that encompasses the joy and beauty of her being here.

a lullaby

a good night.

home sick

for the first time since july, i was seriously home sick. home sick for a bath i can stretch my whole length out into, homesick for the quiet welcome of my living room furniture, the beautiful assurances of my library, my birds, my bedroom flooded with light, the view from my window, my narrow kitchen, these spaces that are past tense. missing. missed. another peace. another piece.

i even went so far as to think about apartment hunting today — craigslist, a tempting click away — but i know too much now. i know an apartment will not quiet the restless worry, just keep it at bay. it will not solve problems {that aren't mine to solve anyway}, merely provide a distraction and illusion of control.

my to-do list is longer than my arm, but tonight, i left rehearsal, put away my actor hat, my producer hat, even my best friend hat and sat in a bath with some poetry.



----------------


two vignettes from tonight's bath time poetry session. i was reading from the collection behind my eyes by li-young lee


from become becoming


wait for the sky's last blue
(the color of your homesickness).
then you'll know the answer




from secret life


and when it's time, the dove


calls from its hiding place
and leaves the morning greener


and the one who hears the dove more alone.

two weeks

please tell me we'll get there. that everything will work out. that the backdrop will be made, that the setting will be elegant. that the lines will come. the honesty, live. please tell me i am not waiting in vain. that i'm not a fool for trusting. again. i am done with high and dry. i want to be juicy and ripe. pick me from the tree and savor the dusty patina of summer sunshine still clinging to my skin. please.

---------------------

in two weeks we'll be on the other side of opening night's show. how did we get this far? how will we get the rest of the way there? put one foot in front of the other, floss, drink water, and hope and pray and sleep. try to remember that i am stronger than i have ever given myself credit for. i don't need you. i don't need anything. i am here, restless at 2am, listening to how it ends to remind myself this is just a crisis of breathing. calmly, now. in and out. expand. contract. the bellows of my diaphragm. the kind of breathing that gives me more than just oxygen. that's it. simple. sweet. this is how it ends. this is how it begins.

#3

a week after driving around in the car with music friends #12 & #13, it felt right to be following some of the exact same roads touring one of my first music friends through my city. kerry park. alki beach. golden gardens...

chris, #3, whom i first met traveling from los angeles to santa barbara to see radiohead finish off the american leg of their '08 tour. at the time i refrained from telling my mom i was getting into a car with two strange men and later driving back to los angeles with a third until after i was home safely, but obviously my gut speaks true, and here we are, three years later, meeting up again in another city {for the second time} and planning the east coast leg of radiohead's next tour.

it was a good night. played through kid a live, singing along quietly {despite my recent voice lesson break throughs, very few people actually hear me sing in person, particularly to a thom yorke song}, listening in silence, stopping and freezing our butts off for photos, and meandering through stories more personal than we have shared in the past.

it was a good night. one of the last bits of carefree time between now and the opening of the show.


-----------------------

pale blue eyes played while we were at lunch together at elysian brewery. i often forget i have blue eyes, or that they affect others.

flying

today, in my voice lesson, i found something new: that incredible, free falling space where the sound came straight from my gut, effortless and true — an entity of its own flying free from my body with a power and clarity i couldn't even recognize.

and it brought with it such an overwhelming feeling of joy i started giggling mid-scale, then laughing out right, then crying, then laughing and crying again until the sobs took over and a grief not unlike the one i felt on mile 11 of the half marathon swept through me, leaving me clean and calm in the face of how scary it is to be so powerful.

i have only ever reliably experienced this feeling of being such a clean conduit in front of a canvas, paint brush in hand, critical mind carefully stowed out of the way in some muted back corner, but what a perfect time to be finding this in my body as a product of the instrument of my lungs, my soft palate, my self.

now, nat, go out and find this in a body called catherine standing simply on a blank stage. she's there. she's waiting.

support

the most amazing thing happened to me today. i still have a hard time not convincing myself the phone call was just some glitch of my imagination. maybe if there hadn't been a coworker in the office demanding an explanation for all the oh my gods and a voice skirting the edge of tears, i would have succeeded in telling myself it was all some cruel trick of my vivid imagination.

but it happened. it really did. and before i tell you exactly what the content of this 3 minute phone call was, i would like to skip back a few months to a moment i had in mid-august. i wrote about that event in its entirety here but the bit that is the most important is the realization i had documented in the piece. one night a few months ago, a mere hours before my friend andrew enthusiastically jumped on board to collaborate on a film/documentary/narrative about my journey southward, i was crying in a dark theater watching harry potter {yes, harry potter}. my tears came from realizing that my deep, vulnerable desire to have the world believe in me is to drive back the black hole in my spirit that historically has been my own lack of belief in myself.

and that black hole? it still comes and goes, warping space and time to find its way into projects and places in my life it has no place. yet at the same time, i've been learning to defy physics, pouring hope and love and challenges into that space and finding light make its way back out again. i can survive without a tightly woven and perfectly organized home space. i can challenge the sweaty pain of a half-marathon and push up against success on the other side. and i find more strength and beauty and clarity in myself than ever before. i've been making progress, you know, and part of that progress is just being able to acknowledge that the world, and more importantly my own spirit, does believe in me, even when i struggle.

and so today......

god.

i don't know if i can do the shock and awe and heart-searing gratitude justice.

today i got a phone call from a friend wanting to discuss my play. they've mentioned donating to the cause in the past, but today's conversation that stretched out on the other side of hello took me entirely by surprise.

rather than just giving a significant{!!!} amount of money, they have thought a lot about how to help push along the fundraising campaign. and this person, this one single, steady voice said: i will match the next $1,000 worth of donations to the campaign--an offer which will effectively take us to our goal double time.

and so. there you have it.

it's so far beyond surprising i still don't know what to do beyond sit with heart-fluttering joy and forge ahead into my first production as producer, first production as lead, first real not-class-associated acting role and not look back any more.

and last night's rehearsal was the first where i worked up a sweat. the first where i came home and had to unwind for hours, the crucial conflict of the piece playing through my head like a real argument. it was the first night i felt connected to the successes of the work, no matter what it looks like on the other side.

so thank you, my solid supporter. thank you to all the voices that have contributed to get us 1/3 of the way so far. thank you to all the other voices in my life who have found words of support and encouragement over the years. for me, for my work and for the colors of my life. i am so grateful.

i know i already asked once, but here is the link again in case you were considering donating. every dollar you pledge will become two. even ten will become twenty. every little bit helps.

29

29 is here.
29 is new.
29 is scary and about doing scary things like acting in a play i've wanted to do for years. and like acting, full stop.
29 is living with the driving need to go running, even if it's just a short 4 mile trot around greenlake before rushing home to go to rehearsal.
29 is the smell of a freshly picked golden delicious apple hand delivered in tissue paper with a gorgeous card.
29 is gratitude for all the birthday wishes delivered via facebook, text {one of which was composed of 19 parts}, gchat, phone, and in person.
29 is knee-weakening gratitude for all the birthday donations to my kickstarter campaign. my heart is full in light of so much generosity.
29 is the giddy joy of freshly homemade gluten-free cake that was so surprisingly beautiful i said holy shit about three times in a row when i first saw it.
29 is the sassy boldness of eating yet another piece of said cake at 10:30pm no matter what my waistline threatened to do in response.
29 is staying up until 2am making sure i've got the next day's lines memorized.
29 is facing the vulnerable uncertainty of waiting for someone. even if the wait is short {in the grand scheme of things}. even if the wait leaves my achilles heel so obviously exposed in the meantime.
29 is the confidence and strength to live in uncertainty.
29 is having a real savings account for the first time in my life.
29 is hoping for the grace to be compassionate with myself in the middle of a bad day {like tuesday} when the world doesn't organize itself to my liking and the weight of all the stresses in my life presses down on my spirit. good stress & bad stresses alike: busy work schedule, rehearsal & production demands i can never somehow meet, relationships in grey zones, a living situation that is challenging for me, a never ending to-do list, never enough sleep, need i go on....?.
29 is the optimism that i can find self-compassion and welcome it into my daily life.
29 is the hope that i can let go of my perfectionism.
29 is the last year of my twenties. the second half of my saturn return. a new phase. a new year.
29 is here.

birthday sun

photographed before a {short} birthday run which will happen before eating the most beautiful birthday cake i have ever had made for me {photo to follow after i'm done with my birthday rehearsal later tonight}.

a good day so far. a very good day.

portishead - 10.23.2011

i can't believe i almost missed them. i can't believe i almost didn't go to the show, almost turned around even as late as when i was finding a parking spot. a weird resistance to seeing the show alone had snuck in but i made it past the hesitation and into the venue to be welcomed by the anonymity of darkness and a thick crowd of strangers.

but strangers gradually individualized themselves: the obnoxious taller-than-me-person directly behind me {who later thought it okay to sing along AUDIBLY to the rip--a very quiet song--as well as film over my head, knocking my i-don't-care-what-i-look-like pony tail and bumping the back of my knee a few times too many--grrrrrr and fist shaking to poor concert etiquette}. but then, more importantly, the two from portland standing next to me who thought it adorable {their words} that i was memorizing lines between sets and who, quite magically, ended up becoming concert friends #12 & #13 {more further down}. i had come feeling a bit anti-social and had a book to stick my nose into to boot, so it was a little bit of a double dog dare to the universe to see if anyone would breach my thick walls. evidently the universe had an ace up its sleeve, or perhaps more accurately, two.

but let me tell you about the music. if i can.

it....yes. full. ache. reverberating chest. bass. quake. melting heart. hope slipping in a little too. hand to face. hide. retreat. sound. dissonance. harmony. beth's tiny body, so quiet and understated yet filling us all with her massive voice--harsh at times, but just as easily ready to split open and bleed for us in the next moment. my hand over my own heart for most of the show pressing into the lines of my upper ribcage, holding in the beating because it. was almost. too much. to feel.

and above and beyond it all, the sweeping sensuality of their sound--so beautiful and raw that sexy seems like a childish term for the incredible force of human nature their music brings forward. and part of me, submerged in the delicious chaos of their music, couldn't help but marvel at the apparent contradiction between the mechanical, inhuman and almost overwhelming cacophony and the deep, primal life it evokes. maybe it's because their dissonance is laced with just that perfect amount of heart-wrenching melody, allowing the other worldliness of it all to be grounded in the heart, spirit and body. and as much as i've loved it all these years, their music still surprised me as it arose from the deepest pit of the earth, sliped into my body from my feet, and took up a bold residence in my gut spreading softly through me, pressing its way into my pulse and the swaying dance of my hips. it was inescapable. i could not stand still.

except for wandering star--that was the opposite. i couldn't listen quietly enough to absorb every last sound she made: from the opening notes when i barely knew what was about to hit me to the searing tremble of her voice at the end. it's hard to pick a favorite in a night that included sour times, the rip, glory box, machine gun, & cowboys {just to name a few}, but wandering star just might have come close.

as we cheered our way to the encore, i did something i regretted not asking of my last few concert friends. i leaned over to my new friends jack and alex and shouted: can we go for drinks? we have to go for drinks!

and so we rode the post-concert buzz together, meandering to ballard market, hanging out at golden gardens with cilantro/lemon dip & marzipan chocolate, trekking up to kerry park to overlook the city and just generally reveling in the lovely connections we shared. we exchanged snail mail addresses {hello fellow postcard senders!} and i sent them along their way with some burned cds i had in my car to sweeten their drive home to portland the following day: bon iver, florence & the machine, and a mix of thom yorke/radiohead songs with at least one critical song they had never heard before: all for the best.

i got home at nearly 2am. it was a very good night.

--------------

silence

hunter

nylon smile

mysterons

the rip

sour times

magic door

wandering star

machine gun

over

glory box

chase the tear

cowboys

threads

roads

we carry on

proof

i know i've been a little close-mouthed about the play i've been rehearsing for and not because it doesn't mean a whole lot to me to finally be making theater after wanting to act since i was in kindergarten. but in addition to being the lead, i also wanted to learn how independent theater was made, so i'm co-producing with our awesome director. it's been an overwhelming learning experience {we've started our own non-profit}, a lot of fun, just the right amount of challenges and inevitably exhausting.

but this is the real tricky part. in a time when even our well established regional theaters are ending seasons early and struggling to make ends meet, funding is scarce and less work is being made, which makes projects like ours even more ambitious and more needed. so this is where you all come in. i don't ask much of anything from you, the readers of my blog, but if you have a dollar or 5 or 53 {notice the amounts are all prime numbers? heh....yes, we've found our inner math geeks in the process of making this play}, we could really use your help. consider donating to our kickstarter campaign running here or even just spreading the word to people that might.

on behalf of blank stage theater, thanks.

nathania, producer, actor, and jack of all trades kind of gal.

the heckler

it started about an hour or two before tonight's rehearsal. a black cloud swept in and perched on my shoulder. eat this. don't eat that. wear this. you can't wear that. petty little comments in a petty little voice.

then about twenty minutes into rehearsal this woman with frizzy hair and weird eyes shuffles in from the meeting happening elsewhere in the gorgeous school where we rehearse in madison valley.

actor: excuse me, we're rehearsing here.

the crazy: mumble mumble...carry on...i'll just sit here.

she sits firmly.

awkward pause.

actor {who is the reason we scored such a great space}: well, we can't really kick her out...

director: alright everybody, take a deep breath, focus and let's continue.

but the sighs from the corner became more frequent, more audible, until finally she got up and started shuffling over for a better view.

actor: excuse me, you're going to have to leave.

the crazy {indicating me}: she's really dry. very dry.

me {with a fair bit of sass--ready to go to battle out of nowhere--guess catherine is sinking in somewhere}: excuse me!?!

actor: don't listen to her. excuse me, that's out of line, leave now.

the crazy: she's soulless, totally soulless and dry. and old and soulless and ugly. {being forced out} i hope you're not acting here. this is terrible.

actor {coming over with a gentle arm on the back}: don't mind her, you're doing great. you're beautiful. don't listen to her. don't listen to her.*

from the exterior, the irony of the old comment at least is that i'm a good 7-10 years younger than anyone else in that room. but from the hidden folds of my spirit, that voice i have been trying not to listen to this entire production uses those exact words. targets those exact sore spots. i can't imagine being reflected back a more accurate image of some of my deepest darkest fears about acting.

how did she know? how could she possibly know?

and why, of all the people to be a prophet to, did she have to pick me?

*sadly, the exchange was really more drawn out than written here--it stretched on for a couple of minutes though it felt like even longer. i just sat at the table and tried not to listen.

pry it open

starting now.

7 miles + sunshine + fall = bliss

i had the best fall run today. the weather, a dear friend, showing up to meet me at the front door. that clean edge to the air that is just warm enough to encourage me down to a tank top and just cool enough to not let me forget its gifts: a sly sweep across my shoulders, tracing the sharp lines of my scapula, slipping down along the groove of my spine and touching me where you cannot.

optimist

despite the grey skies, or maybe because of them, today was an optimist* day. i had the song on repeat in my car and evidently the reinforcement paid off because the day ended much differently that in began:

*not to be confused with optimistic by radiohead.

blood bank

i find it a strange quirk of the universe that i will have a song in my collection for months or years and never really listen to the lyrics until the moment they are relavent to my life. perhaps i've been listening all along and i merely note the moment my unconscious mind tells my conscious mind to perk up and listen, but either way, i heard this song in a whole new way today and found my story mirrored a bit including a few eerie details.

i'm navigating some tricky territory at the moment in my personal life, but in a way that constantly affirms that i am in the right place, with the right people, as uncomfortable and imperfect and slightly painful as everything is. running parallel to the journey i'm making giving up control in my home space, this has been an opportunity for me to rescind control in other facets of my life. i can't fix things, people, relationships, i can merely be present, honest and true to the best of my ability.

today the weight of things sank in a little but bon iver was there to sing me through to the other side, giving parts of my own story back to me in a package i can hum along with.

blood bank - bon iver

Well I met you at the blood bank
We were looking at the bags
Wondering if any of the colors
Matched any of the names we knew on the tags

You said see look it that's yours
Stacked on top with your brothers
See how they resemble one anothers?
Even in their plastic little covers

And I said I know it well

That secret that you know
That you don't know how to tell it fucks with your honor
And it teases your head
But you know that its good girl
Cause its running you with red.

Then the snow started falling
We were stuck out in your car
You were rubbing both my hands
Chewing on a candy bar you said
ain't this just like the present
To be showing up like this
There's a moon waning crescent
we started to kiss

And I said I know it well

That secret that we know
That we don't know how to tell
I'm in love with your honor
I'm in love with your cheeks
what's that noise up the stairs baby
Is that Christmas morning creaks

And I know it well and i know it well

phase 2 of nomadacy {nights 91 and onward}

night 91 and onward

last night i moved from my second stay at phinney ridge* and back to my friends' place south of the zoo. this is my layover point {unless plans change} for the next two and a half months. my fall and early winter camp of sorts.

i have fears about this next stretch of time but i keep on going back to the logic of the decision which comes in three parts: 1. i want to travel internationally while i'm not paying rent and that can't happen until january. 2. with the play, work and hopefully sleep somewhere in there, i don't have time to find the perfect place. 3. even if the perfect place fell into my lap, i don't have time to settle in and unpack so why waste rent money for a space i couldn't really take ownership of?

but despite my mantra that this makes sense/this makes sense, i have mixed feelings about this next phase. somehow, somewhere in my brain the mere fact of being here longterm means i have to identify and take ownership of my space, how it looks and feels and suddenly i want things. i want my own comforter with the crisp white cover. i want my blender. i want my winter clothes i packed up thinking they'd be coming out of boxes sometime in the next few weeks {which, realistically i'll have to sort through and unearth}.

but this is not my furniture, these are not my things and my spirit doesn't sing back to me welcome when i step into the space. since the ownership that would naturally be a part of me living somewhere for an extended period of time still isn't possible even if i'm not moving from place to place, it forces me to confront that compulsion to nest on a whole new level. it never spoke as loud to me when i knew i was only staying somewhere for a night or a week. however, even though the volume is cranking, i am learning again i don't have to listen.

random thought: now that i think about it, today is exactly three months in. the last night at my apartment was july 15th and at this point i anticipate returning from my adventures around mid-january.

here we are. the mid-way point.

so far i've made two really good friends during this time. those kinds of friends you want to take home and show all your treasures of mind, body and spirit. and it still feels strange to me that neither of them have seen my jade plant that has a life of its own, neither have seen my paintings, my color coded books, the careful arrangements of shells and buttons. one of them, sadly, will be leaving to move to los angeles soon, so perhaps she never will, and the other, i hope, in whatever way they are able, will still be around this january to see the fullness of my spirit and space unfurl itself into whatever shell of a home i can find.

wait. one second. that's a good realization for me to make here, now, at this very moment as my fingers type this sentence: that my greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses are merely two sides of the same coin. i set out to do this because i need to locate the strength to find myself in the container of myself {and not in my home space which, at the end of the day, is merely a collection of superficial things given worth}. but simultaneously, because of that strength, i sometimes feel i can't contain the entirety of myself and that the things i collect around me help carry the vibrant burden of my being. they distribute and dilute it, but also, in their own way, multiply and contain it. i am filled with a reverence for the magic that happens in my home space, for the beauty and resonance that i cultivate and when i finally allow myself to return to that space, i already feel a greater sense of awareness and appreciation for that part of myself.

random thought: i just decided that during my travels i will splurge on something for my new apartment. an offering to these things that have waited so patiently in storage during my absence.

there was a 3 hour break here as my friend {a la tuesday night's car ride confessions} came over, delivered some soup, ate chocolate with me, admired my new lululemon pants, brought lambic we didn't need to consume because we went on a 2 hour walk in the crisp air down to fremont which included a spontaneous dance in the street to the music some folks were blasting in their car concert on the side of the road along the burke gilman trail. it was a good detour of the night. an in-person care package. during the field trip i also saw a massive jade tree {3 x 3 feet?} for $110 at the indoor sun shoppe. if i don't find something on my travels for my home, i'm buying that jade. perhaps even if i do.

so here i am, standing at the edge of the next precipice, feeling the journey i've taken stretch out into the next path of challenges and growth. and the lessons i have learned, about the links between mind/body/space, control/beauty/body, relationships/hope/control....they rest gently inside me tonight, even as i navigate some tender spots of home and hope and tender hearts and connection.

nights 81 to 90

as i was packing up and cleaning the phinney ridge house, the most incredible sunset was spreading out its colors just outside the back porch. it seemed a fitting close to phase 1.

*this was the house sitting gig that made being a nomad possible, so thank you, 7027 palatine ave for your generous growth opportunity.

~nomad nate, writing from sou-zoo, seattle.