Of studios and solitudes

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So, today I asked myself to make The Choice.

I headed into work this morning, knowing that by the end of today I'd need to give an answer on this studio I've been considering. "Yes" means "no" to other things. It means "no" to the group life with the friends I've grown accustomed to. It means "no" to any further reconciliation with Douglas. It means "no" to a house, and "no" to my furniture, and "no" to the last of the tools I still save.

It's such a difficult "yes" when I look at all the times "no" must be said.

So, what does this step say "yes" to?

It says "yes" to my independence. The place is sized for me alone. There's room for a guest, if they sit close, if they sleep close, if they like close. But it's certainly a place that's sized for me, alone.

It says "yes" to my leaving. The size of the place packs me. It puts me into boxes, and stored - or onward, into others' hands. It puts me into my trunks and garment bags, my gig bags and book bags. It puts me into my laptop. It makes the step from Eugene to Portland, or Seattle, or Venice, or Amsterdam, that much smaller, that much nearer in time.

It says "yes" to my music. I can take few indulgences, outside of the chores of daily life - the eating, the sleeping, and the cleaning of it. My keyboard and computer fill the room. I can only assume that they'll take on a corresponding portion of my life. I'm walking distance from the clubs I sing in.

I hear the traffic - I'm not used to traffic. It reminds me that I'm in a city, and I'm still not Home. I'll see offices from where I sleep, and stay mindful of the bed of commerce that supports me. I'll cherish the trees, and the wind, and the light up the river each day that I can spend there.

So, "yes" to Independence, Music, and Leaving. I think this fork in the road is a good one. I'm a little scared, this late in the game. But this is a game where even big losers are winners - that's why I play it this way.

Thank you again, my friend, for remaining at the end of this rainbow of thoughts. It's easy for me to imagine you. It's easy to remember that I'm imagining you. What may be hard to reconcile is your presence, someday, in my life - however you choose to be.

But all I have to do is look at the music I've chosen to hold the story of what I've determined to be, and it's All There - however it unfolds, It's All There...

This is a very, very fortunate way to Be.

-- Anonymous, October 17, 2001

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