As I write this, I am sitting in an apartment in Seattle. I have no friends. I have no colleagues. I have no partners or companions.
In this place of playing, goofing, making things — the world is extremely small and in this world I find myself by myself.
There are times I am lonely.
But I am not lost.
I am not needy.
Or desperate.
And I am not alone.
Solitude can be a very good thing, if the price you pay for friends and admission to a bigger world is the loss of something you can’t replace.
That’s how the last few years have felt for me. I’ve watched communities I knew and love obliterate themselves and become something else. The whole world feels like it’s been tossed in the air and the pieces are still tearing apart and maybe, in the corners here and there, beginning to congeal. If you’re lucky, you had a family or a community that has hung on. But even then, things are not what they were and everyone, if you look closely, or maybe not even closely at all — has changed.
My hope is that in this good place I work to hang onto and in this good place I work to remember and in this good place I work to grow, I will eventually meet others who have done the same thing and we will begin again.
Meanwhile, there is the internet. This to me is a double-edged sword. Great to get work out here, but the more time you spend online the less time you spend in the world.
The approach I’m going for the next few months is to blow it out everywhere.
We’ll see.
I don’t even know if there is anywhere left in the world to play anymore.
What I do know is that I am alone.
But I am not lonely.
And as much as I feel like I am by myself, I am surrounded by the things I love and the path I know is mine to follow.
If you’re out there reading this by yourself, I hope you’ve found a way to get through the last few years that feels similar.
As artists and human beings, it’s all we have.
And to have that much, I feel lucky, blessed, and grateful.