Still Becoming
What Comes Next
Every other room in this house looks back. This one faces the window.
The boys
I'm raising two sons. They are the reason the survival years had to be survived, and the reason the building years have a deadline: I am building the childhood home they'll come back to at thirty.
That's most of what I'll say about them here. They didn't choose a mother who publishes things, so their stories stay theirs until they're old enough to give them away.
Home
The house is still being repaired — plaster, patience, one room at a time. So is everything the house stands for. Both kinds of work are slow, and both are the good kind of slow: the kind you get to keep.
The town
Titusville gave me somewhere to land, and I intend to be useful to it. The plan is simple to say and long to do: help its local businesses become more visible, more connected, and more digitally capable — until being small and local stops meaning being invisible online.
The work ahead
The unfinished list, in no particular order except the last item, which is first:
- Growing Forever Still Studio, one local business at a time
- Developing House Booker for the venues that deserve it
- Teaching Vale to be a better steward
- Strengthening Titusville Square as the town grows into it
- More songs, and the visual stories that go with them
- A durable, ordinary, unremarkable life for my family — the most ambitious item on this list
The table
There is a table in this house with space still available at it — for the people, the projects, and the chapters that haven't arrived yet. That's not a metaphor I'll explain further. Some doors in a house stay quietly closed, and that is part of what makes it a home.
For the first time, the future does not feel like a threat.
It feels like a room I am allowed to enter.
I am still here. I am still creating. I am still building. I am still becoming.
I am Forever Still