SIX MONTHS
^ some sample tracings of the many versions of myself I have been over these last six months. Aritst, activist, and former Watson Fellow Miyuki Baker suggested I create a self portrait for every month on the road - a fantastic idea!
Overwhelmed, overwhelmed, overwhelmed: my six-month travel anniversary found me sobbing uncontrollably on a couch in Amsterdam, while the dog I was sitting looked on in utter concern and bewilderment (later I explained to her what was going on; we're cool and stuff).
Disclaimer: It's a bit awkward to write in here now that I know I have a little audience – to be honest, when I first started writing this blog it didn't occur to me that anyone other than my family would read it regularly. I mean you're totally welcome to read it – that's totally why I published it on the internet, and hopefully something in here is useful or interesting to you – but I'm just acknowledging that. I'm gonna be real with you, because I like it when people are real with me and I like reading hearty, intense things.
Anyway, my body and brain kind of just shut down for a while the instant I hit six months. The exact day. Suddenly I was excruciatingly exhausted. To be totally honest, I'm still kinda recovering – this shut-down was followed by a bug followed by feeling really off-schedule and distracted and disoriented. I think part of me was just like CAPACITY CAPACITY CANNOT TAKE IN NEW INFORMATION TOO MANY FEELINGS WTF ALERT ALERT and my body was like yeah, let's not deal with this.
I was hoping to have a beautiful wise post waxing poetic about journeys and finding myself and stuff at this point, but really all I can say is hey hi, time is freaky selves are freaky woah what the heck, what is happening. How does one even begin to measure or summarize something like this? In the last six months I've lived in 21 homes, met hundreds of humans, spent lots of time in buses and train stations, packing and unpacking, folding and unfolding. Made lots of friends, given away lots of art, seen lots of shows, taken lots of workshops. Performed a little on stage and a lot in life. Made two more masks. Thought lots of thoughts. Had lots of feelings. Sung exuberant ridiculous improvised songs while waiting for rides and washing dishes. Made some people laugh, laughed at myself, laughed at so many charming hilarious people. Cried a lot. Cried in front of people I barely knew and people I got to know super well. Spent time with people almost 24/7, which meant starting the long process of trusting that people will still be able to deal with me when I'm honest, tired, frustrated, lost, anxious, giddy, enthusiastic, awkward, overwhelmed, or sad. For the most part that's been true (humans can deal with a lot, and a lot of them are really beautiful and accepting), which is incredibly affirming. Sometimes I tear up just thinking about it. I don't even know where I'd be right now if it hadn't been for the so many kind people who have asked me how I'm doing and meant it, who have put their hand on my back or offered a hug, who have reassured me in their infinite specific ways.
This has been an incredible, absurd gift. In every moment I am painfully aware of how strange and lucky it is that I get to be doing what I am doing, even in the moments that haven't been easy. Which is not to say I'm always graceful about it. But I am always grateful.
When I saw the acceptance email for this fellowship in my inbox, I was sitting at the old wooden desk in the Grove House at Pitzer, refreshing my browser (I'm embarrassed to admit; I had tried to be casual about it all morning but by 9 am couldn't handle the suspense). I read the words “congratulations” and laughed and cried and walked around my room and kept rereading to try to figure out if it had been a mistake. I kept catching myself in the mirror and laughing at myself: Hey, you! What are we doing! What am I getting myself into!
In many ways I still don't know what I'm getting myself into. Looking at the selves I've traced and the ways in which I've adapted and readapted – I'm sometimes not even sure who I am any more or how I am feeling. All I can say is that I feel stretched, expanding, exhausted. I feel tight and full with ideas, habits, thoughts and feelings collected from the many people who continue to make my journey (and my existence!) possible. So full with so much love for them, for you. The more I learn, the less I know for sure, the more I realize that all I am is a response to everything and everyone I encounter.
