31 January 2006
Hey lover,
There are casual comments of concern and trepidation lingering about. They've come from the unlikliest corners and are always heart-warming. They've come from the voyeurs, the audiences who are subjected to the most drab or dynamic of our exchanges. And they keep asking, "are you okay?"
It's true that the last round of letters from my short but eventful January tour around the Canadian prairies was less than optimistic. But I'm a glutton for emotional intensity. I've heard it said that joy stems from the same place as sorrow. That the body can't distinguish stressful anxiety from heightened anticipation. Makes sense to me.
So I've returned from the January tour, cleansed it seems, and with the car transmisson sweetly in tact. There you were waiting. But we've spent every minute since gearing up for the next departure!
I've come to appreciate what I love about touring. Someone recently asked me if I've ever followed my heart to do something that I was deathly afraid of, but knew I had to go through with. The answers came quick and easy and all had to do with traveling--the sweet sheltered prairie girl busting out for more cosmopolitan adventures and finding herself in spaces absent of expectations.
Sorry to say, lover, that this time around feels different. The tour will be a long one. But I've gained an affinity for love letters and a newfound faith in the road adventure, promises of postcards and pics, and a companiero for the traveling: Peter Katz. And I've got the deepest catharsis of January's emotional rollercoaster to thank for enough epiphanies and lessons to take me a hell of alot further the next time.
C
P.S. Okay, I lied. The whole impetus behind my recent change of attitude has nothing to do with life lessons and emotional catharsis. It's all bullshit. If you want to know the truth it has more to do with one night at a northern Saskatchewan cabin with food, booze, cigarettes, scandulous gossip, and the sweet, good, unconditional love of my favorite women.
There are casual comments of concern and trepidation lingering about. They've come from the unlikliest corners and are always heart-warming. They've come from the voyeurs, the audiences who are subjected to the most drab or dynamic of our exchanges. And they keep asking, "are you okay?"
It's true that the last round of letters from my short but eventful January tour around the Canadian prairies was less than optimistic. But I'm a glutton for emotional intensity. I've heard it said that joy stems from the same place as sorrow. That the body can't distinguish stressful anxiety from heightened anticipation. Makes sense to me.
So I've returned from the January tour, cleansed it seems, and with the car transmisson sweetly in tact. There you were waiting. But we've spent every minute since gearing up for the next departure!
I've come to appreciate what I love about touring. Someone recently asked me if I've ever followed my heart to do something that I was deathly afraid of, but knew I had to go through with. The answers came quick and easy and all had to do with traveling--the sweet sheltered prairie girl busting out for more cosmopolitan adventures and finding herself in spaces absent of expectations.
Sorry to say, lover, that this time around feels different. The tour will be a long one. But I've gained an affinity for love letters and a newfound faith in the road adventure, promises of postcards and pics, and a companiero for the traveling: Peter Katz. And I've got the deepest catharsis of January's emotional rollercoaster to thank for enough epiphanies and lessons to take me a hell of alot further the next time.
C
P.S. Okay, I lied. The whole impetus behind my recent change of attitude has nothing to do with life lessons and emotional catharsis. It's all bullshit. If you want to know the truth it has more to do with one night at a northern Saskatchewan cabin with food, booze, cigarettes, scandulous gossip, and the sweet, good, unconditional love of my favorite women.
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