Nathan thought this needed banjo, so I obliged him, and I'm glad. He doesn't know the song very well(there was no time to), but in the end I think it matters not. Eventually our feeling matches up toward the end. We shared the mic.

This song was born while I was at work at a coffee shop, riding the elevator to the parking garage where I would dump all the trash, food scraps and coffee grounds. I liked those elevator rides—they were the only times I might have moment to myself in a seven hour day. Part of the song is about desiring to be more in control of one's emotions—something with which I've made a lot of progress, but still struggle with presently. I used to be absolutely controlled by my emotions—though I usually hid them from others—I have always felt intensely, and definitely lived out my emotions and imaginings in private if not public. Most of my life I was rewarded in different ways for being an emotionally volatile person—and the ability to have access of deep wells of emotion vibrating under my skin at all times has been an asset as an actress, and, yes, sometimes as a non-actress—but it took me about 28 years to decide I prefer to not live out my emotions nor to interpret my emotions as a mirror of what is real.

Benefits of feeling great emotion and, sometimes, showing it to others: others realize what you have in common—showing emotion and vulnerability can be an effective way to enable others to empathize with me. Benefits of being able to reflect on intensely emotional situations and exchanges: realizing that I am a resilient human—capable of feeling like the world is ending and surviving it—knowing that I am dynamic and changeable and powerful—and never being afraid of emotion—having a great understanding of and honor for emotions is something I value in myself. Benefits of choosing to not believe my emotions, and to be someone who is less “emotional” than she used to be: being more in control of my own happiness; being able to have a more objective experience of reality; being able to accomplish more and love more and do more. Shortly after writing this song back in 2013, I aimed to not cry for a year. I had finally judged that I was so familiar with crying that it proved useless to me—that crying and weeping, and, essentially, sometimes feeling sorry for myself, was a useless, destructive thing—a waste of energy and time, and an assertion of helplessness. The following eleven months I cried less, by a huge margin, than I had in any period of my life—sure, perhaps sometimes I was numb, disassociating from emotions—but, actually, I think it was a hugely successful semi-conscious act of learning to choose how to deal with pain and not let it conquer my world. It's pretty sweet. Since then, my exploration of emotion regulation and reality exploration has employed simple methods of zen meditation. It's pretty tight.

This song is about traveling through planes of space, time, and emotion. It's about everything from acknowledging seasonal depression to acknowledging emotional immaturity to acknowledging natural cycles of season, growth, taking, giving, learning and not-knowing. It compares emotional journeys to physical journeys—be they oft intertwined. Here, the speaker is acknowledging her own journeys and learnings; voicing feelings of loneliness while dedicated to the path of the self; voicing worries that when one returns, figuratively and literally, to familiar places and loved ones, that she may not be welcome nor recognized. She speaks of discovering new philosophy in the same way as finding treasures be the seaside—“I wanna show you what I've found”. She makes promises that when she is through with this current cycle, this current journey, she will be a better person and a better friend—and she is aware that this promise, called out into the grey ether, is less of a boast and more of a desperate hope that it will be true. With this hope and promise she is acknowledging her past egocentricism—she apologizes for the way she has been—“I never mean to be mad, I never mean to be sad, I just want to be: I never mean to smile so desperately”. She doesn't make excuses though, this old self of mine—she is trying to lay things out on the table—accepting the way she has been, inviting the other to be a witness for her growth—“did you see me? Thanks for helping. Where you there?”—while at the same time asserting her desire to not need anyone so much anymore—“Did you see me? Where you watching? I don't care”. She nourishes her hope, her fantasy, and inevitable reality that the sun is going to look her way—a symbol of her faith that she will conquer her emotions, and that she will make it through this current journey. She hopes she will be free to make life no longer about momentary needs based on emotion and self-consciousness, but about shared experience. All that remains is her desire to know her the listener better. How have you been, man? What she has been through, and is going through during the piece, she knows is, as everything essentially is, taking place in her mind—a struggle which perhaps won't be much to tell of later, though at the time she feels like Captain Hook sailing alone lost at sea reflecting on the Peter Pan inside her, reflecting on what she has been and wants to be. Her greatest interest lies not with her self—but of being able to return to shore, to find a community which she can serve and love and know.


How many times do we ask each other: how are you? It is truly a vast question of each others' current emotional and physical condition—and it is alarming that we great each other which such a serious question, for, due to the impracticality of taking the time to honestly answer such a question, we tend to dishonor the question and perhaps encourage each other subconsciously to further disassociate from such personal exchanges. I believe in the power of specificity of language. Language can control our meaning, just as much as we can control the meaning of language. To change the meaning of “how are you” to mean “don't actually tell me anything worthwhile I'm just acknowledging that we have further seconds in this present encounter” is not just mildly confusing at times—but is a disservice to our ability to handle authentic engagement on any level. To say what one means and to trust someone else to handle one's truth at any given moment, no matter how fleeting or at what level the stakes, honors the both of you so much more than saying words the meaning of which you mean not. Examples— To say, 'hello, what can I do for you?' Is different than asking 'HOW are you?' To say 'oh pardon me' because you bumped someone is different than saying 'I am sorry'—why would you be sorry for bumping someone? Do you actually think you were wrong? Are you sorry for existing? Why should we be sorry for anything that is an unavoidable accident? What the hell is right or wrong anyway? What's wrong with a mistake? They happen. Because reality IS bumping and passing and circling and mis-understanding—why would you apologize for that which you can't control? Oh gosh, now I'm going off into the importance of specificity-of-language-land, rather than sticking with a self-indulgent explanation of this song!

To end the song asking, again and again, in soaring tones of dreamy prayer “how have you been?” is to honor the mundane, to sing the beauty and praise of the every-day, to give attention to the details and moments which amass our lives—to raise awareness that every moment is an opportunity to be more present. Sometimes a storm or a tidal wave comes into our life, re-shaping our landscape of the self—but moreover I suspect it is moment after moment of our daily actions which sculpt our overall identities, compounding to have the final say on what our stories look like and sound like.

Okay I'm done.

What do YOU think this song is about? How does it make you feel? Did you get anything out of it? Or does it sound somewhat lovely yet devoid of meaning for you?

Anything I do, writing a song, sharing thoughts, making any decision on the daily, performing any action—usually is and always should be for myself—but none of it is done without hope that others can recognize some of themselves in it—in order to witness and validate my existence and experience, and in turn, I hope they find it useful for their own experience and existence . If my actions provide some kind of use—be it humor, amusement, validation, meaning, inspiration—in any way, no matter how tiny—I would like it.