Absolutely! {perhaps}

I've decided: the worst is the morning they leave. It doesn't really matter who or where they're going or even for how long. If it's someone you love and they are leaving while you stay behind...

Here is the problem with farewell mornings: you aren't fully anywhere. Or anywhen. You aren't leaving, so there's not much to prepare. You can't jump back to your to-do list because you really don't want to miss any time with the someone-you-love. And yet, it's hard to really be together because by this point both your minds are already thinking about what comes next and what mustn't be forgotten and how much you're going to miss each other.

It doesn't matter how good the visit was. In fact, I believe this effect is directly linked to how wonderful your time was - the better the time more wistful the morning.


Because that of course is the real problem with farewell mornings. Over everything is this color of memory of all the other times you've said goodbye and the empty feeling right after they leave. You know that feeling and you know it's coming again...

Our walls each look different and I know they change with time. This is what mine tends to look like these days:

It's night and I'm tired. Asleep-in-a-moment tired. There's a nagging list in my head of things I should have done during the day and didn't. And now instead of going to sleep I'm sitting in front of my computer and refreshing Netflix and Hulu again and again in search of something to watch.

This is despite the fact that I know I don't particularly want to watch anything. I'm just doing it because the wall around making music is pushing me away and making me think about anything else. And the easiest way to not think about everything I haven't done or the things I want to do is to watch someone else doing funny things in a little glowing box. Or have adventures. If I'm not having adventures, at least someone is.


Yes, it's a bit odd, when you really think about it. Glowing glass box... But it works. Let me tell you, it works far too well.

There are always songs waiting to be written.

Most of the time they are hiding behind what I've been referring to as a wall. Really, it seems to be more like a Doctor Who-esque perception filter: a force that makes you want to look anywhere but there and to not-quite-see whatever it's hiding. This is the force that makes me want to do anything but go over and say hello to those songs, including but not limited to watching online television, mindlessly staring at facebook, plucking my eyebrows, cleaning the pink mold off my shower head, or reading a random novel from the library. And all the while I don't even notice that I'm avoiding the one thing I want so very badly to do.

I've been running into this wall for as long as I've been trying to write songs.

This week I noticed the wall and named it. Dear interwebs: please meet Judgy-wudgy-pants. Or Horace. Really I haven't decided yet. BUT - I've started to notice when it starts pushing me to look elsewhere.

What will follow is the ongoing story of how I learned to see Horace, what I find beyond his perception-filter force, and the process of meeting my songs.

And hopefully it's a story that's not only quirky and interesting, but also maybe a tiny bit helpful to one or two other people.

Because I'd lay good money on the idea that there's a Horace somewhere in pretty much everybody's life.

I haven't blogged for a year because I didn't feel I had much to say.

I now feel I may have much to say.


Beware.

"Hi... um, I am bringing over a guitar for reparation and I was wondering if there are a lot of customers in the store and how long it would take?"

"Well, that depends on what needs done. Can you tell me what is wrong with the guitar?"

"It needs reparation! Are there many customers there? How long will it take?"

ummm...

It's too late for anything particularly profound, but I was just looking through my pictures from this weekend and I really loved this image. It's ok small, but you should really click through and see it full size. I do love cameras and how they help you see things just a little bit differently.

Last night I found a two year old sticky note from my mom in which she told me she's glad I am a "strong, focused woman." It was apparently significant enough - for a sticky note - to make it into my journal (an honor not many stickies achieve!). I'm still pondering it, so it's apparently a sticky with longevity, too.

Recently I was told by a young man wanting to ask me on a date that I was "sweet and helpful". He was trying to be complimentary, and I'm sure he really liked that I seemed sweet. And helpful. But it made me sad.

I don't want to be sweet and helpful. I want to be smart and deep and honest and true and effective and strong and wiry and kickass. I want to be someone to be reckoned with, someone to be counted on, someone to love and be loved by deeply and wildly. I want to be joyous and ridiculous. I want to be wise and tempered, and I want to be bold and full of adventure and courage.


I want to be met as an equal, not looked down on from above. I want to challenge and push you to be more extraordinary, and I want to be pushed myself. I never want you to lose a game we're playing to make me feel good about myself.

Once when I asked one of my best friend what drew him to his new girlfriend he thought for a long moment and told me very earnestly "she's genuinely kind". This surprised me and made me think. Yes - there is enormous value in true, deep kindness. It's difficult and it takes strength. I want to want to be kind.


But for now I'd so much rather be all those other things.