I won’t make this long. But, the weather’s cool enough to make clear the passing of time, and I felt compelled to write.
We’ve been in Nashville just over 2 months, and I’m still not certain my brain has quit hopping around. There’s a cocktail of emotions swishing around—between uncertainly and unrelenting bliss. This image, me sitting on a porch next to a sleeping Cattledog in middle Tennessee, feels impossible. It also feels inevitable.
I’m having a hard time pressing past the stresses that growing up in America brings. The endless guilt your meant to feel when you make a wrong turn; when your afternoons are filled with leisure. Spending nearly all of my twenties hand-washing dishes has made loading a dishwasher an act of guilt. A place to wash my clothes without a sack of quarters? Am I worthy of this?
Maybe it’s the Catholic upbringing, years of hustling around as an actor, or just plain genetics, but I’ve been built with this anticipating that to have good things means you have good things to lose. The terror in relaxing into a salary, a skill, a relationship, even.
I mean this to say, I think I really like what I’m building towards, and the only moments of uncertainty or happiness that bounce into my brain stem from the fear of waking up.
