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02.10.12 : Winning the Lottery

One year ago today, on February 10th, 2011, I arrived at Sea-Tac International airport on a British Airways flight from a visit to London, with barely enough money for a train ticket home. I was facing weeks of alone time in a new city with a new job and only my dog to keep me company.

The passing of important years or phases in my life seem to always be marked by some kind of out-of-the-ordinary event. This “book-ending” of years or chapters is definitely a real phenomenon in my life — and I wouldn’t be surprised if other hyper-sensitive people notice this about their lives as well. When I feel something shifting in my world, one of the first things I do is look back to see what happened about a year ago.

My “winter migration” partner-in-crime, Chris Staples, left for tour today — which makes today “Day One” of two full weeks that I will spend alone, in a half-empty house, with some food, $20 cash, a bicycle as my only transportation and my dog as my only company. I don’t know anyone in this tiny Florida town, and, quite frankly, I don’t feel safe venturing out after dark — so I’ve mentally prepared myself for two weeks of “indoor camping.” It’s the first time I’ll be alone like this in… years. Maybe ever. I probably won’t see another human being except at the grocery store or the bank.

As soon as the house got quiet today, it started to sink in that I’m going to be truly, absolutely alone for the rest of this month. After the non-stop chaos and noise of the past year, and especially the past few months of touring to Florida, getting through the holidays, working on the endless pile of Kickstarter and handmade merchandise orders, weeks of preparation for tour, traveling to Nashville and then two weeks in a van all the way up to Massachusetts and back, barely making enough money to get my plane ticket back to Florida, and then a week listening to Chris’s band rehearse in the other room — the silence today was deafening. And that feeling of slamming on the brakes felt oddly familiar, so I looked into it, and lo and behold: one year since I got off that plane in Seattle.

It absolutely blows my mind, how much can happen in just one year. But the past year in particular was excruciatingly packed with inconsistency and change — too much for my heart to handle, I’m afraid. I’ve been feeling strangely emotional since returning home from my east coast tour, and I’ve been thinking a lot about 2011 and what I wish I would have done differently, maybe subconsciously recognizing that the year is finally over, and it’s time to sort through whatever is left and make sense of it.

Last year, when faced with weeks of being alone in an unfamiliar city with no friends and no money, I fell into a slump. I immediately started a routine of coming home from my part-time job, walking the dog, making dinner and watching TV shows and movies until it was time for bed. I tried to write songs but I couldn’t; my heart was heavy. I had moved to a new city, gotten an apartment and a job, and was trying my best to stay hopeful in a situation that was totally overwhelming.

Today, I had a flash of heaviness when the door shut and everything got quiet. But it only lasted a matter of seconds before — out of nowhere — I was overcome with a wave of inspiration. Almost without even realizing it, I was already turning the living room into a makeshift recording studio. I couldn’t wait to sit at the piano and start tinkering with ideas. I made myself dinner, took a long hot shower, and got super comfortable. I even took out the lights I used on stage on my last tour and draped them around the room for ambiance! By 10pm tonight, I had recorded a really moody, soundtracky song on an out-of-tune piano with a couple of room mics and only two or three takes, no editing. It’s nothing special, but I’m totally happy with it and excited to try recording another idea tomorrow!

Last year, I seemed to have all my ducks in a row, but I couldn’t find my footing and I didn’t know exactly where I was headed or what I was trying to accomplish. It was hard to find inspiration. I felt weighed down and confused. I remember it clearly; I was watching a LOT of “30 Rock” and eating a LOT of pizza. I was alone and I felt alone.

Today, despite my seemingly dire situation, I actually feel like this upcoming two weeks with no money, no job, no one around and barely a place to call home might actually be the highest point of my career so far! Why? Because I have nothing to do for the next two weeks but work on my art. The important bills are paid, I have enough food and money to get by, and I have transportation if I need it. I don’t have to leave the house — in fact, I can’t leave the house! I’m stuck here with a house full of instruments and recording gear, in tropical Florida weather, with no obligations. The only thing I have to do, other than drink coffee and take care of my dog, is CREATE. Work on handmade merch orders. Design things for my Etsy shop. Email my friends about collaborations and upcoming shows. Work on my ideas for EIY. Call my brother. Brainstorm with my booking agent. Read. Make zines. Record an entire album’s worth of whatever kind of music I feel like making.

I feel like I just won the lottery. And it’s funny, because I thought that winning the lottery would be the only way I’d ever be able to afford to do the things I want to do. Turns out that choosing to be poor was the shortcut I was looking for, and now I get to cash in.

From London to Florida…