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 was standing there, waiting for the light to turn so I could cross the street. And the thought came. “This place is too small for me now. I can’t stay here.”

Santa Rosa, CA, is a small city as cities go. I live in an even smaller town just outside of Santa Rosa and I’ve always

4th Street in Santa Rosa, CA

loved both my little town and Santa Rosa. They are slow and sweet and safe. Quaint and quiet. The politics tend to be liberal, and the people are smart, kind and just a little crazy. Every time I would travel to big cities, like New York, L.A. or even San Francisco, I always loved coming back to Santa Rosa where the pace is gentle, and there’s plenty of parking, and people don’t drive like meth addicts. And then there’s those gorgeous lavender mountains that cradle the east and the Pacific ocean cradling the west.

And hey, Santa Rosa has a Peet’s Coffee!

But as I stood on that corner yesterday, I knew I needed more. And that knowing sickened me. What the hell am I supposed to do with THIS?

My mind rushed in to the rescue, handing me this next thought: “Oh, come on! This is just New York City backlash. You’ll get over this! You’ll feel differently next week!” But I don’t know if I want to feel differently. Because I know this revelation is merely an aftershock of a larger earthquake that’s shaking the foundation of my life. This is not only about where I live. It’s about how I want to live. It’s about who I am becoming.

Call it a mid-life crisis. Call it a breakthrough. Call it whatever you want. All I know is that what has always felt safe and familiar, cozy and comfortable, now feels like a vice grip on my throat.

And okay, being in New York didn’t help, I’ll admit. I loved being out in the City, hearing live music every night, meeting crazy new people, having intense conversations with other musicians, not knowing what was going to happen next. We weren’t locked in at night watching TV. We were out in the energy and buzz of life. And it made me feel alive, invigorated and inspired.

Since I’ve been back, with the exception of one great night at Lorraine Feather’s show, I’ve been trying to be okay with my old routine. Work, sing, eat, watch TV, go to bed… get up and do it all over again. I mean, we all have our routines, right? And I’m not knocking a system that works.

But I can’t walk out my door (or even drive 30-60 minutes) and find a jazz club like Smoke, or any place where music is being created in the moment. Or gather with people who love music, who are intensely passionate about it… or passionate about SOMETHING. And I’m craving all of that.

I’ve tried appeasing my desire for MORE by thinking, “Hey, you’re just 75 minutes away from San Francisco. You love that City! And you love coming home from that City.”

But you know what? Even San Francisco feels too small. Rather, too familiar. And now, right now, I’m hungry for the Unfamiliar. The Unknown. For room to grow into myself. For people who know this same hunger and are feeding it by living a life that thrills them. For music and the people who make it, love it, and crave it as I do.

So. I have no idea where this will lead me. Seattle? Portland? Both are cities with lots of life, jazz and young, passionate people. Or maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and fall back in love with Santa Rosa and my own quiet, sleepy town. But I don’t think so. I’ve got Big City Disease. And it may prove fatal.