Howdy Kumquats.
Just sending an update because I had to cancel The Nest’s final show here due to….more fucking snow, more flooding, more being brought to my knees by the exhaustion of trying to stay buoyant in this crazy sea right now.
It brings me no pleasure to write to you so humbled all the time, but I do it anyway because I think there are very few real people to be found right now. Maybe the others are hiding, giving in to that drilled-in conditioning of shame, taught to hide imperfections, hesitating to share anything less than success. But fuck that. This is what it looks like to live an authentic life. I share my journey with you because I think you need to hear it, and I’m not ashamed of it. I’m rather proud, actually. But that doesn’t make it an easier to navigate or endure...or talk about. There are mighty few examples or road maps for us.
And so, I am here, reporting back from the wilderness.
First of all, our first show in Berkeley will remain the shining example of The Nest 1.0 That show felt like the pinnacle of the past 3 years, as if I was here this whole time just to have finally turned hardship into trusted friendship, fueled by limitless creativity, all poured into magical performance, and received hungrily by a loving audience. The Nest was made as an incubator to grow organic, underground performance art in order to take it out to the world. I couldn’t have asked for more.
Of course the work is never done.
But today I just feel so tired.
On our drive back from Berkeley on Tuesday morning, rain turned to snow which turned into yet another 2 days of pummeling by weather. Once back in Nevada City, the vehicle fishtailed so many times, almost ping-ponging off a telephone pole and a car, until we finally parked and waited 3 hours for a four wheel drive ride up the hill.
While sitting there, I was getting messages from the studio property that grid power went down again. So, I stayed at my friend and neighbor’s house for 2 days, just flattened emotionally because I hadn’t even had time to heal from the previous blizzards. It knocked the wind out of my sails entirely and left me just wanting to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.
When I finally got back to The Nest yesterday (Thursday), the space was flooded again from the melting snow. Not as bad as before, only about a 10’ radius around the front, but still. It’s too much for me. I can’t continue performing my magic trick of turning shit circumstances into gold anymore here. It was a Herculean effort to bring my dream this far. It’s just time to go where I can do it better, easier, more potently.
So, there will be no closing show. Instead, I’m dreaming of the grand re-opening. But today, I’m taking the day off (mostly) to try to gather my strength and optimism up again….which reminds me of one of my favorite poems.
I’ll just share the ending of it…but you can read the entirety of Andrew Marvel’s poem, To His Coy Mistress here.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
So. That’s the plan.
Rolling all my strength and all my sweetness up into one ball.
And giving even the Sun some healthy competition.
…hoping that ball is not like the myth of Sisyphus, or Indiana Jones, but a creation story. About bringing the miraculous into the world despite the odds. It’s still being written, so I’ll keep living it.
To my Wild Side members, I will be sharing some more behind-the-scenes tidbits from the show in Berkeley shortly.
If you want to support this journey and follow along from the inside, consider joining the membership.
More news as it becomes available.
Stay wild out there,
Trixie
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