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?