Just 34 days ago I left home, emergency style, early in the morning to catch a flight to DC. I spent the first week in the hospital, hoping for a miracle. I spent the second week planning a funeral and the third week organizing and executing a tender yard sale.
On day 21 I flew home and spent two nights in my own bed. I felt otherworldly and strange, a little unsure of how to rejoin reality. My friends were nurturing and understanding. My partner did four loads of laundry. I repacked my bags and flew to Boston.
I was greeted at the opening lunch by hugs from a number of faculty who were very sorry to hear about my loss. I spent the afternoon listening to brilliant and inspiring Berklee students present ideas for business models that could revolutionize the music industry and, in some cases, society.
The next day I woke at 3:30 am, flew to Charlotte, rented a car, drove 250 miles to the coast and played a show. The three shows I played that weekend comprised the most satisfying run of gigs I can remember playing in a long night time.
On Monday I drove from Savannah to Charlotte, returned my rental car and flew to Los Angeles.
In LA I drove to the home of one of my closest high school friends. Since we graduated there have been long stretches of time in which we've fallen out of touch and it felt incredibly good to reconnect, and very comforting to be with someone who knows and understands me at a core level.
I played two shows in Southern California, unconcerned with the petty details that often distract me while I'm there. I had as many breakfast, lunch, coffee and dinner dates as I could possibly squeeze in and forgave myself a couple of times when my energy couldn't sustain my optimism and I had to bow out ungracefully.
Late last night I flew home, just 33 days after I left. I took a moment to look out the window somewhere over some western state, as crinkled brown rock formations rose magically out of squares of parceled farmland. Many emotions surged at once; exhaustion, pride, relief, disbelief. Mostly I felt in awe of the magnificent insignificance of being one out of seven billion currently working my way through the experience of being human.
It's an honor to be here with you. Sending love your way today.