My original goal in taking on this project was to explore more of the Hudson Valley. But in the end, the real gift of this project was an augmented awareness of how every day does bring new experiences, whether you focus on them or not. And if you intentionally invite new, wonderful experiences into your day, there’s a very good chance they’ll show up.

On Day 29, my new experience was going to the weekly Friday Nite Jam Session at Stephen Crawford’s place in Olivebridge. My bon vivant Mark and I have been meaning to go for weeks and weeks, and we haven’t been able to make it for one reason or another. But not this Friday! We google-mapped the address and headed out to Olivebridge.

Stephen has a great stage set up in his spacious backyard. When we arrived, there was an eclectic mix of musicians already jamming. Mark set up his amp and guitar, grabbed a homemade brew (Stephen and Dona make their own beer) and joined the jam. In a matter of minutes, I was headed back to the car because I was getting devoured by mosquitos. They LOVE me, those obnoxious intruders of lovely summer nights. And when I get bit by one, the bite always swells up to the size of crimson baseball, so I had to take cover.

But I could still hear the music from the car, and it was so wonderful to hear Mark play, something I haven’t had the pleasure of for serveral months now.

We got totally lost on the way home (yet another new experience) mostly due to the fact that we were way out in the boonies and the roads in New York are so poorly marked. What’s with that? Is it really so hard to put up a street sign every once in a while so you know what road you’re on? Anyway, we did eventually make it home.

Saturday was Day 30, and it, too, was full of new experiences. Remember Gabe from Monkey Joe’s? He was part of my new experience on Day 16? Well, on Saturday morning, he and his longtime musical partner were playing at Monkey Joe’s in honor of the roasting company’s 10 year anniversary. They call their duo “The Morning Howlers.” After hearing some of Gabe’s original tunes on Day 16, I didn’t want to miss his performance. Here’s a clip of one of his originals:

Later that same day, my friends Peter Wetzler and Julie Hedrick were having a little open house featuring Julie’s new series of paintings, so Mark and I wandered over around 6:00 pm or so. Their home, which used to be the chapel and rectory of one of Kingston’s many churches (Kingston is a city of churches; I swear they must have more churches per capita than any other city in the world), was a’buzz with people, sipping wine, eating blue cheese and looking at Julie’s vibrant, stunning new paintings featuring the color red.

Peter, Julie’s husband, is a talented composer who mostly writes film scores now. A bit of a crazy kook, Peter  dressed up in a black kilt and red tie for the occassion. Here’s a photo of Peter with Mark Marshall, another talented composer. Doesn’t Peter have lovely legs? Why wouldn’t he show them off?

We’ve been to other gatherings and Peter and Julie’s, and every time, we meet some wonderful people. This evening was no exception. New people, new paintings, new experiences!

On Day 31, yesterday, I rested. A lot. Lazy morning, big bacon-and-eggs breakfast, the Sunday New York Times, a little nap. What was new? Well, around 1:00 or 2:00 pm, Mark and I opened a bottle of Schramsburg Sparkling Wine, and chilled out for the rest of the afternoon, watching an old movie, eating popcorn. Afternoon champagne was a definite first for us, and the perfect end to this 31-day project.

Simple, quiet days can still bring new experiences, and sometimes, they’re the best. Like afternoon movies with champagne. Or watching the squirrels eat the cashews we threw on the deck. Just noticing something you haven’t noticed before or seeing it from a totally new perspective.

It’s been a great 31-day project. So great, I’m starting a NEW one! Stay tuned.

As I was driving from the Oakland Airport to Santa Rosa in my rental car, a little Toyota something-rather, I wondered, how would it feel to drive PAST the exit to Sebastopol, the exit I always took to go home, and instead drive to my friend Julee’s house where I’m staying this trip? How would it feel to spend the day rehearsing with my favorite, beloved piano man, John Simon, whom I’ve missed so much? And then go to Christy’s, which used to be Upper Fourth, the place I performed every month for over a year? How would it be to see my old friends Susan and Sandy? And have breakfast with my now ex-husband?

My main reason for taking this trip was Linda Kosut’s invitation to perform at the Rrazz Room, San Francisco’s last cabaret room of any consequence. I had to say yes. When would I ever get a chance to perform there? Never. And it would be a chance to perform with my favorite musicians, John Simon, Tom Shader, Tony Malfatti, and Alan Hall, a drummer I don’t know but is supposed to be fabulous.

And I AM excited about the show. It’s going to be a blast, I know it. It’ s tomorrow night, Monday, June 14, a date that got here a hell of a lot faster than it should have.

It’s been a whirlwind trip. Yesterday, I taught a 5-hour workshop in San Francisco on how musicians can use the tools and tactics of Internet marketing and social media strategy to attract new fans, put butts in seats and sell more music. It was called, “Excuse Me! Your Audience is Waiting!” 18 people came, and it was a big success. People got a lot out of it, and so did I. I love teaching. I’ve missed it.

But afterwards, I felt so tired. My throat was sore from talking endlessly, and I felt I could be getting a little sick. And I was. Sick at heart.

There is something so lonely about coming back to a place that used to be home but isn’t anymore. To see friends who have become distant since I left. To sit here, in my friend Julee’s house, a house where we used to have laughter-filled dinner parties with Dee and Harry and Rhoann and Stefan, Deborah and Tim, people who have all disappeared from my life since I left.

This morning, I took a walk in the cemetery behind Julee’s house, and I found the grave of my great, great grandfather and mother. Colonel James Hardin and his wife, Nannie. I knew that they had lived here in Santa Rosa, that my grandmother was born here, but I wasn’t sure if they were buried here. I found their tomb by accident. Even my ancestral roots are here, but it’s still not home.

There are moments in my life when everything feels heavy and overwhelming, or so stormy and fraught that I can’t find my way. In those moments, I find myself praying, internally and sometimes out loud, “I want to go home. I want to go home,” as if I’m pleading with God to take me up and out of here and return me to the place I belong.

And while I know this home I crave is not a “place,” I am still filled with the sense that I’m a stranger in a strange land, doing my best to make my way, until the forces that left me here remember to come and take me home.

I hate it when you’re winding down from a long week with a beer and a conversation with a dear friend and truth sneaks in and smacks you up side the face leaving a sting you can’t ignore. But then, truth’s always been a rude one. No manners, but great dramatic timing.

Since I moved to New York I’ve been busy trying to make a living, pay the rent, and make my way as best I can. And it’s been good, incredibly good at times. A fun job selling advertising. My copywriting biz is doing well. I’ve met a lot of people and I feel there’s a lot to explore here.

No, I haven’t been singing as much as I’d like, but that’s changing. I’m lined up to meet with a few jazz pianists and start rehearsing. I have a guest spot in a friend’s show in New York City, my first time on a New York stage.

So, life is good. And for the most part, I’ve been pretty dammed happy and optimistic here.

“So what, so I’ve got a smile on.
But it’s hiding the quiet superstitions in my head
Don’t believe me, don’t believe me when I say I’ve got it down.”

But I realize all this busyness and work has allowed me to avoid one of the things that brought me to New York in the first place. The desire to move my life AND my work into the world of music. Not necessarily as a performer, but as a promoter, advocate, marketer and supporter of musicians.

For years and years, it’s been my dream to help musicians succeed and thrive on all levels — financially, emotionally, creatively. But I’ve always gotten mucked up in the “how” of it. HOW can I fulfill this dream? What do I need to do to move closer to it? Can I do it and still make a living?

These unanswered questions and the familiar despair that accompanies them threw me into a funk that only provoked more questions:

Am I any closer to living my heart’s desire than I was when I living in California?

Is all this busyness bringing me any closer to my goal?

What the bleep am I doing with this one life of mine anyway?

“Am I living it right? Am I living it right?
Am I living it right?
Why, why, Georgia, why?“

John Mayer was twenty-something when he wrote “Georgia,” the song I’ve been quoting throughout this post. The song that’s been banging around in my head for weeks. But I’m 52 years old and it bugs me that I’m still asking these questions. It scares me. My fear is that I’ll always be living the questions, never the answers.

“Cause I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still verdict-less life.”

But after a long bout of hysterical sobbing and watching old episodes of West Wing, and then attending to the mundane particulars of my life, my thinking shifted.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m not meant to do anything in particular. Maybe, even though I feel this strong pull to be drenched in music and help musicians be successful, maybe it’s just a thought, an idea, not my reason for being. Maybe realizing this dream is completely irrelevant to living a happy, productive, purposeful life.

And what if it’s not only okay but preferable to have a “verdict-less life,” to use John Mayer’s phrase. As trite as it sounds, maybe it’s not the destination (the verdict) but how you travel the path (the process) that makes all the difference.

“Everybody’s just a stranger but that’s the danger in going my own way.
It’s the price I have to pay.

Yesterday was a lazy day. And as I laid back and did next to nothing, I felt this overwhelming happiness. Not for any particular reason. Not because I was fulfilling my destiny or living my dream. Not because I had accomplished something or attained anything. I was simply being. Being happy.

And maybe being happy, regardless of what I’m doing, regardless of my work or location or circumstance, can be the verdict of my life.