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.

not touching

a dessert-sized portion of my life at the moment, delivered to you in the brilliant words of billy collins.

not touching

The valentine of desire is pasted over my heart

and still we are not touching, like things

in a poorly done still life

where the knife appears to be floating above the plate

which is itself hovering above the table somehow,

the entire arrangement of apple, pear, and wineglass

having forgotten the law of gravity,

refusing to be still,

as if the painter had caught them all

in a rare moment of slow flight

just before they drifted out of the room

through a window of perfectly realistic sunlight.

for no one

between two storms. some of them happening simultaneously. what a glorious few days.

tonight i was mired in my own restlessness so i pointed my nose northward at 10pm to spend a few hours in the car with a dear friend. the only one i could call at that hour. the meandering process of car ride confessions to articulate what i already know: the marching orders are clear and i have everything i need. clarity, sweet clarity but enough with the phoenix already. how many times will i need to reduce myself to ashes?

maybe as long as it's taken me to put into practice a lesson i feel has only made itself know today: if you want to be with someone who will fight for you, you have to learn to fight for yourself first, even if it's just a peaceful protest. gentle hands for tender hearts.

for another

the metal taste rushing to my mouth

lathing stories of surprise and hope

is no longer yours.

{for now at least}

though, for the record, it's more

than a little confusing to have you

reappear

even soft and fuzzy on the horizon

today of all days.

about today & yesterday

this song came to me this past saturday* on my drive down to portland. and what felt noteworthy about those three hours in the car by myself was how comfortable i was to be in my own skin. how i felt the edges of who i was so clearly and truly liked who i found myself to be. i could see that i am a bolder person than i often give myself credit for and far more confident than i allow myself to be.

but then there is this song. four minutes and eleven seconds that so acutely sings the truth of how some of the most potential-filled connections of my life slipped away. and i know i have to take responsibility for it. i know that i have, on some level, attracted people unable to step up and simply speak their truth, choosing instead to just fade away into nothing while offering me the golden but painful opportunity to face the dark void they leave behind.

but now i find a bolder voice, a far more joyful sense of being here, being me, being right where i want to be and i simply want about today to be something that is only about my yesterdays. and i think the important thing for me to remember here, is that while i can't control in what manner the next person comes and goes from my life, what i have put into practice is taking responsibility for how i keep ahold of myself. in the past year i have had the opportunity to test my footing and found myself capable of maintaining the understanding, no matter if the worst {or best} case scenario becomes true, that i am here and whole and nothing they do can add to or take away from that.

about today -- the national

today you were far away
and i didn't ask you why
what could i say
i was far away
you just walked away
and i just watched you
what could i say

how close am i to losing you

tonight you just close your eyes
and i just watch you
slip away

how close am i to losing you

hey, are you awake
yeah i'm right here
well can i ask you about today

how close am i to losing you
how close am i to losing

*most recently, yes, cuz, i haven't forgotten you tried to spoon feed me the national first.

nights 77 to 79

back to portland for a night, you might remember this apartment with a spunky cat named handy and his absolutely fantastic owners. i wish they lived closer. watching reid and kat banter and dance around each other warms me all the way down to my tippy toes.

morning brunch with jamie {at the tin shed where they didn't bat an eyelash at my dairy-gluten free diet}. this is another person i could never possibly get enough time with. check in about the creative process as an actor. so precious to be reflected back that i haven't just been wasting my time and failure isn't inevitable.

nights 79 & 79 are spent in sunriver, oregon, right outside of bend. these are probably the poshest accommodations i'll be staying at this whole time. fireplace, golf course view, running paths to make my legs cry {in a good way} and a roommate i adore spending time with. the three hour car trip was broken up by whole foods excursions, life updates and good music mixes {thanks, #10!}. damage control of misprinted brochures was handled with the help of bridesmaids in the background and enough empathy-humiliation to last me a while. ouch. that film didn't pull the punches.

while i feel everyday life these days is like traveling in my own town, getting away from it all still feels like a treat and makes me strip down to the absolute necessities {toiletries, running shoes, good music, a few clothes}. the extreme weightlessness feels good.

afternoon massage, night run, a long drive home tomorrow then proof. dear god. we are here already. rehearsals begin tuesday. more on that later.

nomad nate, writing from sunriver, oregon.

6:30am

as always seems to happen when life is about to pick me up and squeeze me in a bear hug of change, 6:30am has been greeting me each day with surprising regularity and an unfortunate amount of enthusiasm. a typical element of any big transition is burning a bit brighter, bolder and longer (as in burning the 2am oil) so an early morning wakeup call feels more than a little frustrating. can't i review my life sometime between 2 and 4 pm??!?!
but as inconvenient as the timing feels, if my mind asks, my body delivers, and they both find in the hours between 6:30 and when i actually need to get up a sweet silence that lets me hear the questions/memories/desires running through my head all that much clearer.
and as dark o'clock turns to dawn o'clock i watch the parts of the room around me distinguish itself from the night as a fitting metaphor for the process happening inside my head.