American Sky

I’m home finally. I’ve had a week to unpack, clean-up and catch up and now it’s my first Monday morning in my kitchen, writing and getting back to the thing I was craving: my rhythm.

Travelers are neophiles. They’re obsessed with newness and new activity. They’re addicted to the endorphin burst brought on by new places and adventures. The studies scientists have done, where they show rats in a maze, looking for chocolate, show high levels of brain activity. But I think when you return to something you know and love, there is also a spark of brain activity – a boost of endorphin. I had that feeling as I rode my bike through Humboldt Park yesterday. Walking into the Clipper yesterday evening, my favorite local bar, filled me with a feeling of well-being and comfort. Watching the trees blow outside my window in that familiar Chicago wind reminds me of all the times before I’ve sat here, eating, drinking, or writing.

So, it’s good to be home. And now what next? I thought I would write more while I was on the road, but there was too much newness to distract me. Hemingway said he could never write about a place while he was there. Now that I am here, I am thinking about London, Scotland, my brief stay in Heidelberg – those moments on the tube, the sound of suitcase wheels on cobblestone, the lurch of the double-decker bus. It’s all a part of me, and now somehow I’ll find a way to integrate it into these mornings on the page.

Waiting for my suitcase.

I could walk this whole town in 25 minutes.

For the last 20 hours I’ve been alone in a strange house in a small town in the middle of Germany. The steps that led me here are incidental, but it’s just interesting that I’m not having the “go into the city and walk around and look in shop windows” all day experience I thought I’d be having in Heidelberg. It’s a nice change of pace. And I’ve been doing that thing that I do when I’m alone for the first time in a while, which is really not much, but it’s a slow process of decompression. It involves a certain amount of walking around looking at houses, reading, music listening, trolling facebook and ultimately feeling disgust with facebook and then beginning a process of deciding what I need to change in my life.

I found a blog entry the day before yesterday titled, “If you’re stuck, go on an adventure.” I laughed because my travel companion an I were about to embark on our journey from London to Heidelberg, but we realized we didn’t have a place to stay because we didn’t inform our host of our early arrival. Fortunately, Jae used to live here and knows people, so it worked out, but there was a window of uncertainty where we joked about whether it would be better to sleep in a train station or the airport.

The point of the blog entry is that when you’re on an adventure, you start to realize what you like and what you don’t like, and it helps you solidify your ideas of what’s important to you. Or at least, that’s my takeaway. I should probably go read the blog entry again and see if that’s true.

Maybe that’s what this blog entry is about – about me deciding what’s important.

I came on this trip to shake things up for myself. I needed to meet new people. I needed new teaching situations. I needed to work with people with different backgrounds and I needed new scenery. I was stuck in a rut and not getting stuff done.

I’m still not getting stuff done, but I’m feeling more solid in my purpose and intentions. And I’ve figured a few things out.

1. Good people are really important. As someone who has identified as a bit of an introvert the past few years, I’ve been surprised at how happy I’ve been to connect with people since January when I came down off the mountain. It was like some switch changed in me, and I can be really content in a group or just hanging with one person. But more than that, I really value time spent with people who are spontaneous, fun, flexible and have interesting things to say.
2. Food is a big deal. I’ve obsessed about it on this trip. I love food and there are weird and interesting things to eat wherever I go and I want to try them all. I also know that certain foods make me feel like crap and others give me energy all day long. Food reward is rearing its ugly head and I find myself eating even when I’m not hungry, just because I want the sensation of taste. I’m looking forward to going home where I can find the highest quality foods to sustain me and avoid the temptations. I have fantasies of clearing out my cupboards, getting rid of my fridge and replacing it with a smaller fridge that will hold a week’s worth of food for one person. Mostly I’ll store eggs, sausage, meat and cheese in it and get my veggies from the garden.
3. I miss having a rhythm. There have been times when I’ve been able to get to bed before 2am, get up and do a morning thing like go for a run, or write and have tea. But then there are chunks of days when I’m at an event and am slave to the event schedule. Right now I fantasize that I’ll change my schedule when I go home and get up at 6 every morning and write. I’ll spend the afternoon working and the evenings focusing on things like music, dance and connecting with friends.
4. Re-purposing myself is paramount. I love dance and I love teaching dance but it’s not the only thing I want to do or be. I feel the urges to express myself in other ways and the fact that I haven’t written or played music at all lately is starting to make my creative bones feel brittle.

One thing I’ve figured out about traveling is that doing it till I feel like I can’t take it anymore is probably one of the best things for me. In 2005, I drove around the country for three and a half months. I remember sitting my car outside the evening dance in St. Louis, crying because I wanted to stop moving and just stay in one place for a while. I was probably also ridiculously sleep deprived at the time. But, when I finally got to the suburban apartment in Berwyn I was renting from a friend, I was so damn happy to just be sitting still, I didn’t care about living in the suburbs.

I have three more weekends of dance events and tons of more people to see before I go home. It will be a sweet ending, sweet because I’m still happy being on the move, but I know I’ll soon have the satisfaction of going home to a sunny springy Chicago. That’ll be on April 2nd, for those of you who want to know…

We flew into London Heathrow and stayed with some friends of hers somewhere in a quiet part of the city. I remember black cabs, double decker busses, guards with fluffy hats, the Tower bridge, Trafalger square and taking an etching of something at Westminster Abbey. The other day, as I jogged through west London, I came around a corner and had the distinct and ancient feeling that I’d been on that street oh so long ago. 

Since then, I’ve been to the UK a few times on my own, but today, on a train to Oxford, passing through the countryside, I see fields, brick and stone houses, a church in the middle of a field and I am reminded of the journey we took to Great Gransted… a town where two old friends of my Grandmother’s lived. I think she met them on a sailing trip to the Mediterranean. Great Gransted had one church and one main building that was the grocery store, the post office and the police station. There was an old church that had been bombed. The stained glass featured WWII planes and the headstones were cockeyed and crooked. 

My grandmother was a travel journaler. She loved trains because it afforded her the leisure to gaze out the window while she filled pages with her perfect looping cursive. I think she would be proud of me for making it so that I get to travel abroad and do something that I love. I also know she would scold me for not writing about my experiences more often. 

As well she should. Already, so many moments have slipped through my fingers – maybe captured in a photo or a short video, but the rest, it all slides away, stored only in the imperfect network of my billions of neurons. 

(If you find new journal entries backdated, don’t be surprised. I’m catching up.)

Just a few minutes ago, the sky was blue and I felt uplifted and cheerful. Now diagonal spatters of rain speckle my window. How will Oxford find me? Uplifted, curious, drenched, tired? I see blue sky in the distance and a smiling friend meeting me in the future. I’m optimistic. There’s no other way to be. 

Right now my big struggle is over writing a novel. I’ve embarked on two previous novels and have about 25,000 words written of each. (They’re both about the same story, but approached from different perspectives.) At the house where I’m staying, I came across a book called “The Complete Handbook of Novel Writing” and what I really like about it is that it has articles by actual published novelists YOU’VE HEARD OF that are brief but contain useful nuggets about how to make a novel work.

I realized that my “dive in and hammer out 50,000 words” a la NaNoWriMo wasn’t really going to work anymore because I have some fundamental problems with how I treat my plot and characters, which causes my stories to die an early death. Personally, I’m a big fan of the “dive in and hammer it out” approach, because it’s the only way to fully immerse yourself in failure and success. You can’t dance around the issue (ha ha); you have to try and fail before you can succeed.

But, on this third try, I’m grateful that I came across this book because it enlightened me to the fact that I keep making the same mistakes and that there are lots of different ways to solve the problem. Perhaps I would have ultimately come to these solutions on my own, but sometimes shortcuts are helpful.

The most important thing to remember when it comes to doing something you don’t know how to do is just try. But beyond that, here are some things that have helped me learn new skillz.

There’s No One Right Way
There is no one right way to do anything. Heck, if you’re a math-phobe like, me, you might have gotten through school by learning shortcuts to solving algebra problems, rather than doing it long-hand. There are preferred ways, there are recommended ways, and then there’s the way that you do it. Try a variety of different approaches and don’t get hung up on doing things “in order.” That could take you years.

Start small
Pick something that’s manageable. Forming a corporation from nothing and looking for seed-funding is bound to present you with more failure than success. Create a business-like entity (yourself, and some goods or services) and see what the demand is like. Build it incrementally rather than trying to LAUNCH into outer space. Finding a way to incorporate your new skill or obsession or business into every day is easier than overhauling your whole life and diving into a huge project.

Novel writing is a lofty endeavor. Experimenting with short stories, creative letters, essays and blog posts can help you get your writing chops up while you contemplate your novel’s plot and theme.

Do something you care about. 
If you don’t obsess over it, you’ll never get through the failure.

Find a mentor
Make contact with a mentor and touch base with them only when you’ve exhausted your possibilities. Don’t confuse a mentor with a teacher. Don’t ask them to lead you by the hand through the process.

I often find myself composing an email with a question to one of my mentors only to find myself re-writing it to include all the steps I’ve gone through, so they can give me a more precise response. The very act of thinking through this process invariably causes me to stop writing the email, consider another option and find the solution for myself. Only once my new problem solving routes are exhausted, then I send the email or make the call.

Your mentor will appreciate your willingness to do the homework first and they’re more likely to give you their time if they see that you’re not asking them to do all the work for you. And then you might just get your hands on some pretty useful nuggets.

Keep sources of inspiration nearby 
Dance videos, my favorite short stories, links to beautiful websites, playlists of my favorite drummers – these are all things that have inspired me and given me new ideas. Whether you’re trying to live up to something, or improve on something, giving yourself time to “fill the well” with ideas is a valid way to spend your creative time.

Cut off your sources of inspiration when it’s time to get down to work
Don’t get hung up on watching videos and listening to records. Focusing too much on your source of inspiration may cause you to over-edit if you don’t look or sound like your idol. Just use them as a jumping off point.

When I’m blogging or writing or dancing, I only engage with my inspiration sources as long as it takes to get a new idea. Once I get an idea, I shut off the source and get to work. Spending the time actually honing your new skill is the hard part, but it’s also the rewarding part. Being too close to someone else’s art can cause you to imitate rather than create.

Don’t pay to go to school
By “go to school” I’m talking about a program that you pre-pay for that promises you certification or accreditation at the end of it. There are a very small number of jobs that you actually need to go to school for, such as medicine, law and a few trades that require at the very least an apprenticeship with a master, like electrical work or plumbing. The rest of them can be learned on your own, under supervision from a master, or on the fly.

This doesn’t mean you can’t pay for a specific class at a university, or take adult continuing education courses. Taking private classes from experts who provide clear descriptions of what they’re covering is a way to learn specific skills that you know you want to learn. But paid programs often force you through a lot of re-requisites and requirements that waste your time. If you’re already an adult, you probably don’t have time to waste.

Don’t spend too much time on education
There are so many “non-school” options, books, videos, private lessons. You can have the inspiration educated right out of you. It’s fine to learn the rules, but you don’t have to learn them all FIRST. Look at how children learn, by trial and error. No little kid is going to sit through a power-point presentation on how to walk and neither are you. Get up and try it. Failure strengthens your muscles and builds resolve.

I’ve been to dance classes with people who only go to dance classes. It’s like they’re waiting to become great dancers before they go to the dance party. Well guess what? If you’re at the dance party, you’re getting better faster. As you work on your new skill, you can learn the rules, either through experience, or from an expert when you really need help. Plus, the rules will make so much more sense when you’ve already had some experience with your new skill.

Count failure as part of your success
Babe Ruth had 714 home runs at the end of his baseball carrerr, but did you know that he also had 1,330 strike-outs? I have a friend who went on 500 first dates. At the time that he was getting these dates, he also had a goal to get 100 rejections. Before he developed these two goals, he had a really hard time asking women out. But once he had something to count, no matter what happened, when he flirted with a woman, if she rejected him, he got a point and if she went on a date, then he got to go on a date and see how that worked out. I would say, that he’s one of my favorite people in the world to talk to because he is now an expert in human interaction, having done so much more of it than most people I know.

Remember that art is a process, not a product
Dance, music, writing, most of these things are ephemeral. I’ve written thousands and thousands of pages in my lifetime and none of them will ever see the light of day (at least I sure as hell hope they won’t). The hours you spend playing music and dancing can’t and shouldn’t be captured. Who would want to consume all that? Hemingway said, “the first draft of anything is shit.” Remember that only some moments (hopefully the best) get turned into a product that others can enjoy. But your art is all of the time you spend honing your skills. It’s every day of your life.

Make your life your art
Which leads to my final rule. Make your life your art. Whether you are a painter or an entrepreneur, there are clumsy ways and elegant ways to solve every problem. Make the process as important as the product so that you’re succeeding every day, and not just when you’re playing a live show or selling a thousand units of your invention.

Your skill and talent is an accumulation of all the time, research, energy and love you put into it. If you don’t enjoy that process, it’s not the skill for you to learn.

The thing is, I was the only one dancing for most of the time until I asked Roberto, “Don’t you guys dance salsa? Play some salsa!” “I don’t know how to dance salsa,” he said, “but I’ll put some on.” A few minutes later, a latin beat hit the room. “This is merengue!” I cried, but I kept dancing. Finally his friend, a big man in a plaid shirt from Guadalajara got up and freestyled with me. I laughed, “This is merengue! We have to dance together!” He grabbed my hands and we did the little step. I hate merengue, but it was easy and so in that moment I didn’t care. Another latin song came on. Then when they went back to the pop music, the man from Guadalajara kept dancing. He tried to imitate my moves. It made me laugh. I fluttered my hands out and he did the same. I did a turn. He turned too. I laughed again.

The Bee Gees - voices of my youth

When they put the Bee Gees on, I went nuts. I can’t not dance to the BeeGees. I always had this suspicion about Fleetwood Mac and the BeeGees and once I asked my mom, “When you were pregnant with me, did you listen to the BeeGees a lot?” “Oh yeah.” she said. I call it womb music. Maybe that’s how I got my start.

The Mexican restaurant staff and their family members were seated at the big table, eating and drinking and laughed at me when I did a big move. The man from Guadalajara had a friend with him who looked like a thug. He kept his cap on and slouched in his seat with his baggy pants, but my dancing partner had vaquero jeans, a cowboy belt, a plaid shirt with snaps that was tucked in. His mustache was nicely trimmed. He would be a good catch for the right girl. His thug friend did not want to dance.

I drank four or five shots of tequila, just enough to keep my lips wet while I danced all night. I only sat for a few minutes, once to eat a few bites of cake and once I sat  next to one of the waiters. He was pouring himself a pitcher of something reddish. “What is it?” I asked “It is like a beer with hot sauce and tequila. Want to try?” “Sure!” I said. I handed him a glass. He poured and when I sipped it, it was like spicy piss. I made a face and laughed again. The woman across from me laughed too. Roberto hit the button for the fog machine. I went back for my tequila.

Later another guy who came in, he had a ball cap on, a sweater and jeans. He looked like someone who listens to the Beastie Boys. He was thick and seemed confident and looked at me often from his seat. When more people were dancing, I tried to get him in the mix, but said he didn’t dance. Later, I walked to the DJ table to ask them to play song. The sweater man said, “you are a dance machine!” “I know!” I said. “I can’t help it.”

There were three little girls there and a little boy. One girl liked to sit on the speaker. I would shimmy my shoulders to try to get her to dance with me. She looked away. Her mother laughed. The other girl hid behind a chair and stared at me. The little boy would run up to the fog machine and when it went off he’d run away, ignoring me while I tried to get him to dance. I’m the crazy lady, I thought. The crazy lady who dances.

At the Thanksgiving party in San Francisco one of the little girls wanted me to dance with her the whole time. But dancing meant me picking her up by two limbs and swinging her around or throwing her over my shoulder. I think of myself as someone who does not like little kids, but I like dancing with little kids because usually they are unafraid.

I looked at this party through my tequila haze and thought, “If I had kids, they would be dancing kids.” And then I thought, “I’m glad I have friends who dance. More people should dance.” All the older people were in the back room, away from me and the Mexicans who were in the front room. They were sitting together at tables with their friends and spouses, eating and drinking. They were laughing too, but there was no mixing of the Mexicans and the white people except for Roberto. All the old ladies were there for Roberto, who they loved. They said he was the kindest man in the world.

When it was birthday cake time, the white people came out of the back room and everyone was there for the singing in English and Spanish and the blowing out of the candles. Then the old ladies wanted to sing an a-capella song to Roberto. It was so pagan. I joined in with the singing and then one of the ladies told the DJ to cue up Madonna. Suddenly the opening synthesizer chords to “Like a Virgin” assaulted us, and all the women, who must have been well over 50 circled Roberto and sang the words to him, “Like a virgin! Touched for the very first time!” The Mexican people laughed very hard, but did not dance, except for one pretty lady who joined in. She seemed to know all of the music whether it was in English or Spanish.

Then the white people went back in the back room and Roberto played more 80′s pop and I danced until 9pm, which is midnight up here. We’d been going for four hours already.

My dad finally came out and gave me a nod. I hugged Roberto and shook hands with the man from Guadalahara and we walked through the kitchen and out the back door.