Almost Home

The sun is setting on another weekend. Once again, I’ve spent the balance of it staring over my computer towards the pale blue sky. It’s been great.

Let me be clear: despite the natural progression of events that found me move from enthusiasm to exhaustion, I had a good time at the Sundance Film Festival. I like doing things, getting out, meeting people. All that. But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: 2005 is a rebuilding year. I know nothing of sports teams, but I know that their successes ebb and flow. Some are championship years, others are rebuilding. This is the latter.

2004 was fun. I did a ton. I released a great new record, shot a cool new music video, and toured a bunch of states. I played tons of shows with The Smith Family. I travelled to L.A., Florida (three times), Nantucket, New Hampshire, and Eleuthera. I spent time with great guy friends, and new lady friends. I had more quality time with my family than ever. I saw some great rock shows and movies. I threw a great party or two. I rode across Iowa, ran the New York City Marathon, the NYC, Malibu and Montauk Triathlons, and some 20+ other races. I did stuff. I produced stuff. It was good.

In the end though, as Q4 rolled around and the holidays drew closer, my life turned a bit darker. Some of my more careless behavior caught up with me. Actions that I once considered casual, unconscious even, returned with grave public and private remifications. I crashed. Hard.

And so, as many of you Dear Readers have noticed, I’ve gone interior a little bit. I’ve resolved to spend more time with my cherished male friends — Chris, Kevin, Jeff, Tony, Sibby, James, Matt, Jason, Andrew, John — and to make new ones. These are men who are sensitive, substantive, courageous, daring, and patient. All things I hope to be. And I’ve resolved to figure out what’s broken in me prior to breaking the heart of another sweet, hapless woman.

This is where tonight finds me. I spent the weekend resting and rocking. I unpacked, cleaned my apartment, tended to numerous unreturned emails, and played with Ethan. True, I haven’t eaten that well, or excercised quite enough. But I wrote four songs and recorded two (“Cry” and “Harder To Believe” surprise even me in their quality and substance). I have tended to the soul, and I feel its dividends.

In fact, I missed The Party of the Year (or the first quarter, at least) to spend my Saturday night with Ethan. I love Jenny, Stephanie, Heather, and all the hip little Chicklettes. But I needed The Kid, and The Kid needed me.

He walked out of his bedroom last night, half-asleep from his nap, and paused when he saw me. We stared at each other, smiling, motionless, for a minute straight. I felt this strange feeling, something like tears but all about joy, rise from my heart, through my throat and into my head. My eyes filled up with tears that pooled but never fell. It was the best I’ve felt in ages.

And so, somehow, as dusk falls and the light fades and I face another haried week at The MTV — one that ends with me flying to L.A. for ten days — somehow, I know that I’m just where I need to be.

Home.