This is the Sea
It would be possible to interpret the handful of posts I’ve written since the move to Northampton as a series on loss. And that is indeed part of the story. Those emotions have been fairly easy to feel and to think about. But something else is happening too. Something that I’m only just getting my head around because it seems to be a reversal of the usual way.
I am the first to acknowledge and celebrate the bad-assness of New York City. Its audacity. Its ability to hold everything. Its capacity to surprise you after years and years. But I’m starting to think that, for me, larger-than-life was something preliminary. The big stage and bright lights were, in my experience, a dress rehearsal. A training ground. A practice run. A place of becoming.
Here — now — it is time to be.
I am not clear about what comes next. But I walk through tall grass and wildflowers and I feel all that New York has given me: a spine of iron, an eye for layers, an urge to connect. There is a part of myself that I am finally ready to step into — a place deep and wide, cool and tidal, opaque and clear by turns.
New York was brilliant, brutal, dumbfounding, defining. But that was the river. This is the sea.
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P.S. Anyone who can name the Celtic-infused, folk-rock band from the 80s that inspired this post’s central metaphor will receive a lavish tribute on this blog.
The Waterboys
As usual, breathtaking.
I am still in search of my sea, and deeply inspired by your tales of your journey.
Thank you.
Beautiful writing and beautiful picture.
Welcome home.
A beautiful take on the ebbs and pulls of transition, Kate. The Waterboys are the best – I went through a phase this winter where I listened to “Glastonbury Song” two or three times a day. Somehow it energized me.
There is a green hill far away, I’m going back there one fine day.
K – your writing is more than fine. Wow. wow. wow. So glad you are here.