nomadacy extended

the original plans starting shifting during wedding camp when my friend, sallie, who is about to enter her own nomadic period, casually said i want to travel internationally while i'm not paying rent and a lightbulb went off in my head. of course! i should take that three week trip overseas i am years overdue taking! but i'm committed to seattle through the first week of december when proof closes, then a little longer as i finish up the madness of the holiday family photo shoot season and then a week or two beyond as we arrive at christmas {and currently plan to fly my parents to the states for the holiday}. so, it looks like the last week of december sees me flying east to europe. new year's eve in paris with my friend of a decade, karina, some time in vienna with my sister, a little jaunt through the netherlands with my father {new idea: dad, you up for it?!?!} and then at least a week navigating on my own in a country where i don't speak the language.

and as exciting and right as that the decision feels, it means the nomadic three and a half months will become a nomadic half a year which is terrifying. all my beautifully lined up places to stay finish at about mid-october {in two weeks!} and while i won't be out on the street, i have reservations about the plans that are scraping themselves together post-mid october. i'm weighted down by logistics: i'll have to move my things. i need to rustle through my clothes to find all those warmer articles i packed thinking they'd be let out again before winter. not to mention questions like: if i am paying for storage for both my things and a small to mid range rent, why i am not just paying for a real space {even if i don't have time to find and settle into that new place starting next week when rehearsals start}?

it feels good to stand at the edge of carefully laid plans looking out at the hazily shaping future and know it's okay and this is just the next level of the double dog dare i made to myself to challenge my sense of control. challenge my death-grip on safety and organization and plans. and it was really sweet to hear the reassurances from a new friend last night {see bon iver entry below} that i should keep going. someone who's heard, in that meandering and tangential way of mine, about 14 half-stories about my life over a seven hour car ride, and yet can already reflect back to me that the challenges i'm asking myself to face next are right where i should be. and as scared as i am, i agree. i handled really well {for the most part} a life without a home, but organized and planned out neatly from a to b to c. but what about when the plans fall apart or worse, don't exist? what about when they aren't perfect? i am still waiting for a kismet introduced housesitting gig to present itself, but in the meantime i forge onward, step by uncertain step.

as i close the 29th year of my life and move into the last year of my 20s, i boldly step into a month of uncertainty and challenges: rehearsals for a play i have so much invested in, a new grip on my life i suddenly find myself in where i'm feeling and acting a bit more boldly and therefore vulnerably, and then a span of 2 1/2 months of unplanned nomadacy {the "madness" element to that word seems to stand out a bit extra at the moment}.

and as i gear up for that, i want to take a second to look back at where i have been for the past month.

night 59 was spent once more at my sister's house. it was my mother's last night in the country. a quick two and a half months that went by in a whirl of my move and then baby time. we stil managed to spend a good amount of time around practical tasks {like cataloguing all 1101 books for me in a database before i packed them up} as well as roadtrips {eugene & portland}, emotional break downs {most notably the night i put all my stuff into storage and couldn't help asking what the hell have i done?}, good movies {tree of life and the final harry potter installment} and lots of little moments over the phone, conversing from within the same continent and time zone even. what a gift to have her close for so long. you can see her asleep already on the bed we would share whenever i stayed over at my sister's {occasionally with a new niece/grandbaby}. the next morning i made my fantastic french toast breakfast for everyone and gave myself the second {perhaps???} wheat-induced belly ache i've ever received. bummer.

nights 63 to 77 have been spent here in what is the longest unbroken time since i started. two weeks in the same place straight. tonight is my last night here, tomorrow i head to oregon for a few days and then when i come back i am in my second stretch up on phinney ridge.

as i unpacked this time i carefully evaluated each thing i carried and sent a box of extraneous baggage back into storage. no, i really don't need to wear that shirt for the next 2 months, certainly won't need my sandals or my holga {whoops, just made plans to go shoot with it} and it felt good to lighten my load a bit. i carry too much stuff. holding tightly to myself my belongings as though somehow they can ground me.

silly, nathania, they are just things. feel the edges of your true home. ground yourself in that quiet space you seek when you go running, the one that often peeks out from behind your inner monologue in yoga classes, and that speaks to you calmly, without judgement as you paint...the part of you still buzzing from an amazing concert on monday. there you are home and always will be.

currently listening to this version of beth/rest by bon iver. the jump at 1:22 as he says "pry it open with your love" gets me every time.

bon iver

my consolation prize for not getting to see thom yorke this week. and not a shabby one at that: justin vernon of bon iver and another falsetto to fall in love with, another concert friend to add to my numbers* and a show of such glory glory glory.

holcene was unreal, my eyebrows pursed, barely holding back tears {"i am not magnificent!"}, re:stacks everything i could have wanted and more, and the final act, wolves part 1, was out of this world. he invited us all to sing along with the simple instructions: "you'll get the lyrics right away so just keep repeating them, gradually getting louder." the swell of sound was massive--you could barely hear anything any more--but rather than being drowned out by noise, we were swept along through the melody holding on by our fingernails to words we were singing but could no longer distinguish. we were the music.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

what might have been lost.

the typical post-concert crash always breaks my heart. i don't want it to end. let's hit rewind. repeat. pretty please? the three of us, my newer and newest friend and i, all considered going to portland or vancouver if bon iver was playing there the next night, but sadly, this was the last show of the north american tour. the rustle of feet outside the venue. the exchange of numbers because this looks like a friend to hold on to. fighting the impulse to stay up later than i should, all go out for drinks, something, anything to keep the night going. not let it end. instead, it was a simple goodbye. me, still on some level, puzzled by a post-concert hug from a year and a half ago {did i not tell you about it? i probably should. that night makes for a good story}, resisted the impulse to hug our new friend goodbye. a rare decision to be safer.

what might have been lost. luckily, in this case, nothing, cause we get to hang out again soon. yippee.

this makes #10 in my list of concert friends.

*can't quite count him in the radiohead numbers though i guess he could be a preemptive radiohead friend since they just announced their tour...

13.1

i ran my first half-marathon today. this was an achievement for me since not only have i stated on several occasions that i would never be crazy enough to run for 2 hours, but who, on january first, would have laughed hysterically if i had been told i would even be running 7 miles regularly by the middle of february and a half marathon by the end of the year.

but life can change direction quickly and it did for me on january 9th and the bumps in the road i navigated for a week or two begged some form of outlet. so i put on my old running shoes and went out in the cold january nights, with not enough visibility gear and certainly not the right materials to run in. and to my surprise, not only could i run 5, 6, 7.5+ miles, but i enjoyed it. couldn't wait to go on runs, would laugh like a giddy school girl when my muscles pumped out a few jogging steps in ballet flats or flip-flops rushing between store and car, car and home. and the first few blocks of an actual run would find me just as joyful.

i loved to run. quite the novelty.

but then march hit with a bang and an injury. 10 minutes on the floor, sobbing, unable to get up, a few days in bed barely able to make it to the toilet to pee or get up from it again after i was done. thankfully {surprisingly}, my body bounced back and took only a week and a half out from running followed by a month of cautious runs, carefully monitoring the body i had neglected in my enthusiasm. the half marathon i was sure i would run in may became perhaps july in the chiropractor's words. july turned to august and with a rigorous work, rehearsal & producer schedule on the horizon, september became the last opportunity i would get to run a half marathon this year.

i closed my eyes, stretched my arm out and pointed at random: black diamond half marathon. here we go.

i had a month to train but had been logging fairly consistent 6-8 mile runs and my goals were modest: run the whole way, don't stop, cross the finish line. if i beat my sister's time of 2:04 yippe-ki-ay! but i knew that would be asking a lot. i am a pretty slow runner on a regular basis--the greenlake regulars pass me all the time and i pretend not to care, but i have to tell myself maybe they are only running three miles to make it okay in my head to just chug away one step at a time.

but then this morning arrives and i spent much of it wondering what the heck i had signed up for. after a late night party celebrating freehold's 20th anniversary and a 3am wake-up-can't-get-back-to-sleep-till-4am (thanks, wind) i was pretty tired and a little nervous. not nervous about whether or not i would finish, i knew i would, more because of the visible and exposed nature of the race. why did i feel the need to drag myself out of bed at 6:30 am and drive an hour out to a state park and run like a lemming around a 13.1 mile course and have a time publicly logged? why not just set out 13 miles around my neighborhood and call it a day. cheaper too and who needs a poorly designed shirt? but the excitement was contagious, gradually working it's way into my system and i realized it felt nice to feel a part of something.

and then we were off.

i started modest at the pace i typically run on my own. slow and steady. easy does it. but then it felt too slow. i had more in me, so we went from a 9:30 pace to a 9:05. then the 9:05 became an 8:55 and then an 8:40 and 8:20 at times. i kept pushing a little faster and my brother kept mocking my promises of an easy 10:30 pace that surely he could keep up with despite not training for 2 months {he's been cycling significant distances--very different muscles}.

first it was the tattoo-armed girl that was just that little extra ways in front of us. then the green shirt. then the grey shirted girl we learned is named jessica. one by one i set out to overtake someone and we did and without too much effort. at the halfway point, we were clocking in 5 minutes under an hour and that was without even trying and a slow first mile, mile and a half to boot. it was weird how easy it was. i mean, for a good part of the first half we were joking around between the two of us probably annoying half the folks around us who were heads down and serious, but we were having fun. i did worry that somewhere around mile 9 i'd tank out and all the people i had so boldly passed would then overtake me, but i couldn't hold back. it just felt right to go at the pace we were.

around mile 8, i left ross behind. he was having a hard race, his stomach a ball of acid and his body protesting the lack of practice runs as well as a lack of proper recovery from last week's 600 mile bike ride. so suddenly i was on my own and that was when the race really started for me. now it was just me forging ahead, picking up speed as i could, passing first the man in the blue and orange who we had alternately passed and been overtaken by. he turned and smiled at me acknowledging the current move of our leap frog game. i smiled back, again worrying my body would fail me and i'd see the back of him once and for all before too long.

i never did. i kept going as miles 9 and 10 started asking my body to work a little. but it did and still i kept passing the other runners. green shirt. red shirt. pink shirt. crazy shorts girl we talked to at the starting line who has run several halfs already and who was so far ahead earlier in the race. dark green shirt. one after the other after the other. then the little old lady who barely came up to my arm pit. she was my hero and that was near mile 11. a tough victory. i was to the point where i was thinking i could call it quits, take it easy and glide in probably sub 2 hours anyway. but something happened as i was rounding the corner into the park, the officials pointing the route we needed to take while throwing in an encouraging word. that's when i knew i wouldn't slow down, knew i could stride it out and knew i would do better than i thought i could hope to do on this first race.

and just as all this happened, the decisions made on a preverbal level and my body responding to the demands automatically, kicking it up a notch for those last miles, i slammed into a wall of grief. my chest squeezed up around my heart, tears started streaming down my face and i was overwhelmed by a great sadness. and while the rational part of my brain could monologue internally about the embarrassment i would feel if i broke down at the finish line or even somewhere in between, the rest of me was just running and running and running all the while softly cataloging the different dimensions of the feeling. it wasn't like in the past when a surge of grief overtook me as i did something i knew was taking me farther away from something i want {like sleeping with an ex i should have been long finished with}, no, this was more tied to the success i was about to achieve and how much i have gotten in the way of my own self historically. by achieving this seemingly impossible thing, i opened myself up to the truth of all the other million and one things i have told myself i couldn't have or do because they too felt impossible. and yet, here i am, able to do something just because i put my mind and body to it.

and perhaps part of it was grief for my poor mishandled body. this long and lean form i have criticized, prodded, picked at and blamed for so many things it was not responsible for or were simply untrue: my body is not beautiful enough to attract someone i am attracted to, she is not graceful enough, strong enough, a fit and athletic man would never want me {sadly a literal thought from the other day}, my skin is not good enough, even after losing a little weight i still have so much further to go, it's craving weird foods, why does it want to each so much, why did she just say that, do that, eat that???

if my body were a separate being, she would not be friends with my mind. my mind is a bully, my body is the weak kid with lunch money, waiting to be pushed in the mud.

and yet, here she is, generous and loyal to the core and so wonderfully showing up and doing exactly what i asked and even more. and even while i was able to feel a rare moment of untarnished pride, and as much as i was grateful, i was also sad for her and the abuse she has suffered through. deeply sad.

and to get through to the other side, i did what any actor would do: rather than fight the emotion, bring the emotion to the fight, put it into the work, or in this case, the run. so i breathed it out, put it into the ground, put it into my legs, slowed the wheezing breath that hadn't strained all race until the grief came and seized control of my chest. and mile 11 became 12 and i was still passing folks, and 12 gave way to 13 and what became the only brutal mile of the race. it went on too long, had too many hills and was full of the uncertain footing that trail running brings. my pace slowed. i passed someone on a hill only to be passed at the crest {the only person to pass me the whole race}. tanked out a bit until i felt someone coming up from behind. she never got too close but the threat was enough to light a fire under my bum to make it through to the end. finish line. photo. yippee. relief.

kind of surreal. more than a little exhausted. excitement in seeing racecourse friends catch up and finish: the red shirted man from mile 11 {just after little old lady} who gave me a high 5 as he walked passed asking if we broke 2 hours, crazy shorts girl, jessica, ross. the green shirted woman from several minutes behind who clocked herself in at 1:55. yes, success.

and now i am home with achey hips. taking an easy afternoon. stretching. bath time. compulsively checking for the results so i can figure out my time. resting in a clear victory of myself which is rare for me. i like to put caveats on things, lessen them a bit, but today i felt the deep consequences of that mindset and i'll try to change so that next time, there won't be such a battle. just me and my body, working hand in hand effortlessly letting success come in response to the simple elegance of making a decision and the athletic grace of putting your heart and muscle into something.

homeward bound

a preface to this piece. in august i took a solo performance intensive with the amazing marya sea kaminski who is one of my real life heroes. the class itself deserves its own entry, about how i hit up against failure, how it paralyzed me, how, once i pushed through to the end {blocking myself all along the way} and then let down my guard, ideas flew at me left and right that i could not manifest to save my self or show a mere week or two before.

despite the discomfort, it was a success. i wanted to learn more about constructing solo work, have tools to store in my back pocket {check}. i wanted to generate writing and start to sculpt thoughts around a show/idea/theme {check--see below}. i wanted to get my creative and performance juices flowing as i start ramping up for rehearsals of proof later this fall {check--and had a great moment of reminder about how vulnerable it can get on stage}.

nowhere in my goals starting out did i set out to make and complete a perfect piece, but somehow i tripped myself up trying to do so. but before failure snuck out of its locked box and tripped me up, i had a pretty awesome experience working through what anne lamont calls the shitty first draft. the below is version 1.8 of the shitty first draft of free writing and pretty much a piece on its own. it marks this amazing opportunity that is currently on hold while i put together a production this fall as well as {significantly} explore the theme of home and what it means to me now as an adult by living the life of a nomad. my current life is a lovely companion piece to the below. love how life works that way.

...................................................................................................

a week ago, a facebook friend messaged me late at night. and when i say friend, i mean he’s more of an acquaintance, the older brother of a classmate in college. a good guy, really, but no one i’ve ever spilled my guts to or gone out of my way to spend time with. no, more just someone i’ll laugh with when i travel to see his sister, a passing friend who’s “sunset a day” photo series i’ve been admiring from afar all year via said facebook.

we all have these kinds of friends, collecting them in mass quantities, shuffling through their updates about what boring thing they ate, what boring thing their dog or baby or friend’s friend did, whining about how boring it is yet doing it compulsively all the same. it’s inane, i know, but the only reason i subscribe to this use of technology is because of photographic works like this "friend", andrew, has been displaying all year, but even more so for the magical moments of connection like the one i’m going to tell you about. it was the kind of magic where a simple late night question “are you back in seattle yet?” lead, in less than 5 minutes, through a series of the twists and turns of meandering late night conversation, to the confession of a driving desire on my part to go down to alabama to create a piece about memory, family history, time and place.

and then, the critical moment happened when this man, this person i can count on one hand how many times i’ve hung out with, offers to come and document the project. and then, when i ask if he’ll help me make the short film i didn’t really realize i had been trying to figure out to make until just that moment, he even manages to get excited about it even more. giddy. the two of us typing away enthusiastically into the wee hours of the morning, andrew completely unaware of the emotional breakdown i had earlier that evening watching the last harry potter movie {sappy but true}, seeing the entire magical community mobilize behind one person, tears streaming down my face realizing that i want that experience of people believing in me so much they would die for me, then simultaneously realizing in the flash of an epiphany that i crave that belief from others because, dammit, I don’t believe in myself! and then fastforward back to the present moment, me at a keyboard, a mere hour or two later, being given the gift of this one person’s belief and commitment and oh-my-gosh-i-don’t-think-i-can-sleep kind of excitement in me and my project and my vision.

after waiting 18 years to return to my childhood home and 6 years to make a piece of artwork about it, everything is happening and happening with the ease that synchronicity brings {that’s not going to be a problem, nathania, i have all the equipment i need sitting 5 feet from my body}.

so here i stand, suddenly at the precipice, looking forward to this place i have been looking back to for so long. and let me tell you, it’s a scary precipice. because all that longing, all that patina of loving polish and care i have added to all the memories i have maintained over the years, all those things i cared for and have contemplated for many years that may no longer exist, or even worse, exist still but so changed as to feel defiled--all those things might be taken away, violated or not as i recall them to be.

and as the time and space between me and bayou la batre, alabama compresses, gets smaller, the anticipation is often overwhelming and i feel the pressure building, the hope and memory and excitement and inevitable disappointment already converging until all i can do is breathe. breathe. breathe.

breathe space and air and light and life into the memories i do have, take them out and look at them one by one before having them irrevocably changed by the reality of what these places look like now. because 18 years in geographic time has passed, where a town was built up by the tourism surrounding the placement of bubba gump shrimp company smack dab in the center of town {even though it wasn't actually filmed there}, bringing interest and wealth to a town that probably deserved neither, to the violence of katrina who ravaged more than just new orleans, and especially to the uncontrollable yet gentler forces of time and change.

and on top of all that there is 18 years of personal time, of me growing up, becoming an adult, seeing and feeling the world from 3 feet taller and decades older all the while hording the memories i had of this sleepy little town in the south that inhabited me more than i inhabited it as a 3^rd culture kid, never speaking the southern language of mooobeal {mobile} and the bi-youuu {bayou}, never eating the southern diet of everything fried in two inches of bacon fat and never really understanding the southern mentality of “traveling a ways” meaning going to the next zipcode.

but the south, it has always lived in me in ways i can’t fully understand even as an adult. maybe because it was the most reliable way of feeling beauty and connection from within a family with three older siblings who would really rather not have anything to do with their littlest sister, a mother too spaced out to mediate and a father too imbalanced, fighting the world, fighting his wife, fighting his children and most of all fighting himself, where i was perpetually submerged in that feeling of loneliness that was more of a chronic disease than a passing emotion. the kind of loneliness that comes from feeling so small and separate in such a big world. a feeling i find kind of ironic since as an adult woman i can’t seem to get over how big I am.

so where could i turn to but the south? the spanish moss laden trees passing by outside the open window of our car, the yellow wash of light soaking the faded fabric of our living room, the louvers of the windows that we would hastily close each night the bug sprayers would sweep through the area, the pungent yet sweet and horribly toxic smell they would leave behind that i would drink in to saturate my vivid childhood senses. the jeweled crimson of magnolia seeds. the gentle chime of the draw bridge being brought back up that i would strain to catch the first sign of each time--these images sink deeper into the spirit than i fully know how to go, pumped with life by the thready pulse of my memory that so lovingly crafts the experience each time i draw them up and back into me. and it worries me that i have instilled in myself a confidence in my memory, not for the methodic memorization of numbers and words, though i’m not all too shabby at that, but for that visual and sense memory, of knowing a place i have been to only once and years ago at that.

what if i go now and it is not how i remembered it not because it’s changed, but because my memory failed?

so i ask myself now: how do i let go of what i know or think i know? how do i come to this place open hearted and free? because whether or not i want to, i come burdened with an abundance of nostalgia. but not the sweet kind of nostalgia, cloying and untrue, no, this is not the saccharine variety but rather the sacrificial. the kind of nostalgia that churns up dark waters, where everything that has been lost or taken or forgotten washes up in its wake to be burned as an offering for all that is to come. because as much as i go down there for the past, for what was and what has been, to honor and name it, present it in vivid colors, i am here to discover what it holds for the future, to see how it lives on in my life as it is happening right now and how that will all grace what is to come.

wedding camp {nights 49 & 50}

i am long overdue to tell you about my labor day weekend that was spent at wedding camp. it was a wedding & summer camp mash up and should not be confused with a camp about getting married.

even before i got to camp way out in the middle of nowhere eastern washington, it was a magical experience starting with my carpool buddy and new bff {that's "best friend forever," mom}. my new friend sallie & i had the most wonderful conversation and good-food-filled drive out to the camp. bosom friends before we met {shared blog stalking in common, we both knew we'd hit it off before we met}, we spanned topics of dreams and art and relationships and connections and skin and synchronicity and good movies never once getting around to turning on music because there was no space for anything beyond the rapid fire of inspired conversation. it was the perfect three hour drive ending with a welcoming campfire, super-sized marshmallows and s'mores to rock your world {i am an excellent marshmallow roaster}.

already my expectations of only finding delightful and engaging people in attendance were met as random interactions with other guests around the fire spread out into conversations that meandered under a star-filled sky. my spirit was filled with the 12 year old magic and delight of being at camp, meeting new people and getting a rare span of time to just delight in the world around me and the wonderful event we were all gathering around: the marriage of two incredible spirits.

and so nights 49 & 50 of my nomadic adventures was spent in the only place one wants to sleep at camp, wedding or otherwise: on the top bunk of the cabin beds, catty corner to my new bff.

saturday blossomed with stunning skies shining down on my long run. of course i met with some funny looks from the other camping folks in eastern washington who don't understand that a vacation morning can have anything but bacon and campfire in it, but i did meet a fellow wedding camper out running on the trails and again, was not disappointed in finding a kindred spirit in all the participants of the community of the bride and groom. we even, after a bit of running-geek chatter, agreed to run a 10k later this fall together. another bff in the making perhaps {particularly once i got home, friended her on facebook and realized the boyfriend she mentioned is none other than an old friend from my highschool rowing days and a friendship that was always deeper than either of us could really fathom given how little time we've spent in each other's company--another story entirely}.

breakfast was the first of the community meals. dining hall style yet the food was homey and delicious and the ebb and flow of diners allowing for more conversations, more connections, more delight in this amazing assembly of wonderful people all coming together as a many-limbed entity supporting and celebrating the union of this couple. i lingered for a while, met new folks, realized i knew others from before and looked forward to a day of zip line, swimming and sunshine at camp. oh, to be 12 again for a day. what a gift.

and then there was the wedding waiting for us.

i am to a point in my life, a little restless in my single-hood at times, but susceptible to this deep, vulnerable joy laced with a dash of heartache at weddings. even ones where i am not at all connected to the couple--like weddings i photograph where perhaps i just met the bride and groom hours before--they dig deep into this longing i have to connect with someone and build together a future for ourselves, for a family, for a life joined yet interdependent. in the case of tara and nathanael i was lucky enough to see it unfold between them step by step. through weekly updates before or after singing lessons with tara, i got to watch them go from two friends joining me for an incredible viewing of hamlet, to those early moments of is there something more here? to the couple that they are now, devoted to each other and a relationship extending beyond the boundaries of each individual spirit.

what a gift of hope to me, of knowing that life can surprise you, that someone incredible might be just around the corner, and that it doesn't have to be a struggle, it doesn't have to be complicated, that sometimes, two people just know and are free and confident to act on that knowingness. this couple is a perfect example of that, and watching the wedding, so carefully crafted from the typewriter written quotes on beautiful paper strewn about the camp, to the handmade wooden arch nathanael put together, to the song john van deusen from the lonely forest sang as tara walked down the aisle: it was all a perfect reflection of the couple. and i think the thing that meant the most to me, and, in fact, mirrored a desire i have for my own hypothetical wedding to some hypothetical man out there: to have a wedding that is not merely an evening's event where people come together and disperse without the ability to truly connect, but rather is a time and space set aside where the families get to bond, where people get to see the bride and groom for more than the passing moments in the receiving line, and where {and this is something i realized at their wedding} the community is able to bond within itself creating this tightly knit circle that both celebrates and supports the union.

i felt a part of something here. a part of the community blessing tara and nathanael in a way i can't fully describe even now, after two weeks of thinking back to the event. despite how few people i knew before hand {and i actually knew more than i anticipated including the nurse at work that introduced me to the cleanse that that changed my body and life this summer}, i felt a part of something bigger stretching out its arms and embracing these two incredible spirits giving them our blessings and promising support during the journey ahead.

it was a beautiful wedding.

the dancing went till late, the dj a heap of fun {he sports two tattoos that remind me beautiful and compelling tattoos do exist}, and the 9/10 year old on the dance floor knew more about michael jackson than i ever have or probably ever will {i humbly put in a request to have kids as cool as her when i choose to bring my own into the world}. the night ended in a sparkler dance and a quiet walk back to the cabin with much looking up at the full sky of stars.

the second morning around the breakfast table i was able to make final connections of bigger significance. an old mentor of mine was there and we got to sit for a while, interrupted at times by the spit ups of his foster child {who, in a weird twist of fate, i photographed at the hospital about the time they received the call that a child was waiting for them}. it was an unexpected gift of the weekend: reconnecting with someone with whom i hold a great amount of tenderness for how he so carefully guided me to a place of strength and courage i would not have found so quickly on my own. and in particular, the project i'll be completing next spring down in alabama {more details pending} was one he was helping me work towards at the time of our mentoring work, and now, years later, emerges as a fast reality. and, in turn, i got to hear his story, see the joy emanating from him in the dance with his new, and perhaps temporary daughter, and the depth to which he loves and understands her. the playfulness her presence highlighted in him was magnificent in a way my 2am brain cannot articulate beyond the fact that it was a perfect closing connection to the weekend.

while i met a lot of wonderful folks during the weekend {kerry, ginger, renie, kris, john, etc, etc}, the last one i have energy here to note is a woman i met in passing several months back at the bride's house. she's the wife of a mutual friend and is a graceful 5' 11" tall, elegant, curvaceous to just the perfect amount, confident, lovely and an inch or two taller than her husband. it was something to witness in myself open admiration for her that is at such odds with the way i view my own body, particularly in relationship with men that are shorter than me. i hack myself to pieces with my internal monologue, shaving off whole limbs, leaving bloody messes left and right across my figure and yet here stands before me, a woman not too different from me and somehow worthy of admiration when i find myself so lacking. we had several conversations about it throughout the weekend ending in mutual confessions after returning home about how we both suffer from lingering negative self talk surrounding our height and the disparity between how we view ourselves and how we view each other as tall women. the gift of our exchange has been the tangible experience i have of her, her height and my grace towards both and now i am actively seeking to internalize this other perspective and reflect it back to myself, gift it to my self-perception.

here, take this lovely image of what it actually looks like to be a tall, lean-limbed woman and remember that you are not that different from her.

what a glorious weekend.

an impromptu photo shoot when i fell in love with the wood siding of the cabin as we walked past. wait, sallie, go stand over there....okay, now take a few photos of me. sallie is pretty mean with a camera too, evidently.

did i mention the photo booth? heck, yeah!

the drive home was magnificent. sunny eastern washington.

welcome, indian summer.

an old friend

i have been here before...

and i said "yes" then as well.
will they say "yes" back?

nights 41 to 62

i am halfway through my first longer stint of house sitting. it was this three week block of time spent in one place that was the impetus for even considering this nomadic period. and during the first month as a nomad i looked forward to coming to this lovely, adult {read mature} house, perched on phinney ridge and having 3 floors, a grand piano and a well equipped kitchen to myself.

but the night of the migration hit and i found myself exhausted. worn. buried up over my head yet again by the amount of STUFF i have to tote around. overwhelmed by the transience of it all, the loneliness i feared in the empty house i was turning towards, leaving the comfort of two housemates who care so much about me. in the middle of packing up, one of the housemates came in to find me just sitting on the floor, staring into space, surrounded by piles of halfway organized things. it was the low point, my spirit sunked about 10 feet under my body, looking up at me with overly dramatic, pitiful eyes, asking why i had to move yet again, and at 9:30 at night to boot.

hugs were distributed and i found i could carry on my way again.

this burden of dragging feet and spirit is one i'm starting to anticipate, as well as, strangely, the feeling of uncertainty and fear each time i have to move. no matter how imperfect the current situation is, no matter how much i look forward to the next, i can rely on it like an alarm, the desperate clinging that begins right at packing time. and a surprising part of the mix is fighting a feeling of trepidation about whatever awaits me: housemates after having none, a house to myself after enjoying the comfort of housemates....the hypocrisy is as frustrating as it is ironic. and it's not like these are big and dramatic moves, not like that first push off to college, arriving alone in a new city and new life not knowing anyone, not like i have anything but safe and wonderful places to go.

it's humbling to feel my vulnerability each time and encouraging to move through it so quickly.

even though this was not an easy move, late at night, wedged in between a million other things happening, i was relieved to discover almost as soon as i pulled up to the house, opened the sticky basement door, schlepped my things upstairs and started the routine of claiming space and getting situated, the quiet of the new space hugged me as tightly as the good friends i just left.

the past week and a half has treated me well here. a blender i adore, a fridge all to myself filled with the marvelous things i have bought {actually, the first night here, after bringing my stuff up stairs, i went out and celebrated with a big trip to the grocery store to nurture my lonely spirit--good, clean food}. a bed like none other i have slept in. a grand piano with the sheet music for moonlight sonata that i plunk my way through measure by measure whenever i need a change of pace. an amazing flat screen tv and stereo system for watching movies while i edit my way through quite a few photo shoots.

thank you, palatine ave house. you've been great so far and we still have a week and a half more to go on this visit {the first of two house sitting gigs here this fall}.

nomad nate, writing from palatine avenue, phinney ridge, seattle, washington.