I guess I do, if you call what happened last Tuesday a party. It wasn't exactly that. It was more like a melding of love and life and music and art for three hours in my home with people from different pockets of my world. Some very familiar pockets and some newer ones that I'm getting to know. On a Tuesday. In the middle of summer. It felt like an art salon of vibrant vulnerability and joy.
My dear friend Dori had offered to come down from northern California and cook an Italian dinner for me and my friends as a gift. She had been unable to attend Gerardo's celebration and now, almost four months after that moment, I said hell yes to this unique bridge that she extended.
I've been known to burrow myself into the hole of solitude like nobody else. I can hold my breath and stay there longer than anybody else. And within the last four months, I've realized that I don't want to do that. I could justify doing that by pointing out how flawed everything and everybody (especially me) is. And what would that give me? No friends. No love. No party. No art. No music. Nothing delicious. Not one thing.
We humans. We burn through life.
I think I want to burn through it as artistically, creatively, and meaningfully as possible. Flaws and all.
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