A quiet day like this

by childofwine

It seems like forever since I’ve had a quiet day like this.

That being said, today started as so many others have on this journey.

I wake on a pull out couch, contorting myself around bed springs, to the sound of hammers and drills. Eight AM on a Saturday morning. C’mon guys, give a gal a break.

But I persevere and it is eleven AM now and the doorbell rings with a package for one of my absent hosts.

The house is empty and I smile. There is no hurry for anything, no class to be on time for, no roommates to coordinate with, just me and all the time in the world sitting down for some tea.

Inevitably others do arrive and I am pulled into their whirlwind speed vortex of life.

They want to know all about my adventures, questions coming faster than I can process. Stories in my mind of the past few months exploding like fireworks. Beautiful, yes, but very hard to tell stories like fireworks.

I try my best and we dance around in story circles starting way back when, in May, when I found myself in Dublin and then Berlin and then Milhars and work our way to clown college.

When I set out I dreamed of writing my way through the seasons, of scribbling constantly wherever I was. This proves difficult if one is interested in exploring and discovering. This proves almost impossible if one sends oneself to clown college. Clown college stole me for a month and anything other than trying to live in the moments on stage and recover from the flops afterward was impossible.

The very thought of trying to encapsulate what was happening was, is, overwhelming. I can feel it settling though, settling around my body. Having to describe it helps, pictures help as well. Surprisingly so does video as for the first time, once we figured out how to view them, I watch the video clips of me, The Weeping Clown.

I thought I would cringe and I did, I cringed at the part just before I break down. I cringed at the person I was presenting myself as, the person he, Philippe, was trying to help me get rid of. When I watch myself cry and laugh I see what he was trying to show me. I’ll post a little of them. When I recover a bit. When I figure out how. Seeing the video actually helps too. Helps me to understand what I have learned.

That I am lost and this is not such a bad thing. That I hide behind a big wall and this is not such a good thing. That sometimes I want something too much and this is not such a helpful thing. That I have great beauty in me and this is a wonderful thing to know. That my life as I left it, while wonderful in many ways, was not so satisfying and this is a good thing to know. That I believe I can make a better life for myself even if I don’t what that means is terrifying, is exhilarating, is what I have been hoping for.

On the other side of all this is home. Home again home again jiggedy jig.

Practical me sees it coming. Knows it is coming. Knows it is unavoidable. Piano lesson schedules to coordinate soon. Projects and theatre companies to reintegrate into my mind. Fears of my old life sucking me back in compete with new dreams and plans for six months from now when… one year from now when…

Romantic me just looks the other way. Sees only in the present. Dives deep deep down into each new journey along this trip, refusing to come up for a breath because down here, deep down in the sea of adventure there are so many treasures to be discovered. Time enough for breathing when I’m home…

I’m going to go sit in a garden now and not think about anything in particular for a little while.

You have yourself a wonderful day.

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