Lately I have been thinking a lot about home, and the role it plays in giving us a spiritual center. The apartment where I live in the West Village of NYC has been my dwelling for over thirty years; I have come to think of it almost as an extension of myself–like my arm or the shell a turtle carries on its back. As I think of performing my show THE PASS in different venues around the country, and maybe even in London, I know I must leave my Village sanctuary, if only for brief periods of time. Right now I can see a beautiful blue jay from my window, speaking loud and clear, perched on a bare tree.
My little apartment–it is one big room like a French artist’s studio–is so cozy and arranged to my liking: an antique Oriental rug, a comfy bed, closets packed with my favorite possessions in cupboards that are painted beautiful colors; my musical equipment including my keyboard; computers that I use for my PR work. Outside my window wind chimes blow a song with the wind and I often see the communal cats prowling around. They keep the mice away. It’s all idyllic, complete.
Yet I contemplate deserting my home and going forth into the world, performing for strangers and staying in hotels, or inns or apartments. The vagabond, the gypsy in me is on and ready. The sailor is looking to find ways to tear up the anchor in celebration of my musical journey through the years.
I might spend some time in Tucson–awesome desert air, a pool, a living room with a fireplace! Or I can hang out in L.A., to experience the scene in West Hollywood. Oh what a scene!
No doubt, after I travel I will long to come back to my little nest in NYC. Or will I outgrow my little pad, as I have before and leave it only for a time. It is where I have written so many of my songs. I know that I will always love my home in the Village, my place in which I have invested my heart. But there may right now be empty places, just waiting for my heart to fill them too.