Eat, Pray Love?

There are two things that people seem to be asking me when I tell them about the trip I'm embarking upon. 1) Do you have a publisher for the book, then? and 2) Is this your own adventure of Eat, Pray Love? 

To answer the first question: no. No, no, and no again. I realize that this is a reasonable question, and in some ways certainly a metric of the work I'm doing. However, I find it a little disheartening each time I have to say "No. I'm just following my dreams without support from the outside world yet. Sorry to disappoint you." (Which is not to negate all of the wonderful and humbling support I've received through my gofundme campaign. Obviously people do believe in and support me, they just don't happen to be publishing houses.) 

I would love to be the sort of author who is given a book deal before they even go off to the far away land and do their research or write all day every day somewhere peaceful and quiet. Maybe, with a little luck and a hell of a lot of work, I could be. But today is not that day. So no - no one has agreed to publish my words. This is a deal I've made with myself to follow something through. And damn it, that's meaningful too! 

The answer to the second question is interesting. My first response was along the lines of "Not at all... I'm not a 36 year old divorced woman who is trying to discover spirituality and happiness. (Not to mention Elizabeth Gilbert got PAID IN ADVANCE to go on this journey and write this book). I'm a 25 year old who's taking advantage of life because I can and that's good enough!" 

Recently though, I've decided to re-read Gilbert's infamous book again to wrap my hands better around what that means for me. 

The first time I read Eat, Pray, Love, I had just turned 18, I was sitting in the parking lot between the cabins I cleaned in the morning waiting for the guests to leave and stealing a few minutes behind the pie cutters stand at Betty's Pies. I was about to move to Colorado for my first year of college. I had not faced the crippling anxiety that was about to take over my life. I was mourning coming out of my two best years, but full of hope, excitement and ready to be moved. 

This time I am certainly enjoying Gilbert's story of taking life by it's for different reasons, perhaps most importantly that it is getting me really excited to travel. The other most common question I get about the trip is, "who are you going with?" to which I usually respond "I'm meeting a lot of friends there!" which does mean that some people are meeting me along the way, but mostly I'm trusting that when I'm alone for a few days there's a good reason for it and when I meet people and we share experiences there's a good reason for that as well. 

It has made me dedicated as well to keeping better notes of the trip, to writing down more of my experiences in my own voice as they are happening, rather than with the oh-so-smart goggles of the present looking backwards. 

I'm remembering that this will be a lonely trip sometimes and that no matter what, when I get home I'm going to think of it as nothing but beautiful and wonderful for the rest of my life. (This is something I've gotten really good at remembering in the lonely moments. Today, even Venezuela was beautiful, though at the time I'd have given anything - besides, it turned out, my college degree - to leave early.) There is also something to be said for the personal journey I'm going on. I think in some ways I've lost bits of myself here in LA which I would like to reclaim, or at least focus on the woman I want to be most for a while, in new places, with my eyes wide opened. 

I'm still reading the pleasure-seeking Italian part of Gilbert's book. She relays the story of a greater heartbreak than any I can imagine, though I'm not sure it's fair to actually compare, then talks about choosing joy, relaxation and self-love. This is beautiful and wonderful for me to remember, especially right now when my life here is winding down rather slowly and I'm feeling a little bleh about the whole thing - ready to just get a move on, honestly.

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Help fund my artistic journey through Northern Ireland where I will be researching and finishing my book, working title Dear Bird for 3-4 months. Learn more about my campaign and donate here. Thank you!

Poetry Month 4

April 24th

I reached the end of 

too many ropes that day. 

I didn't mean it like that - 

I promise - 

but once the realization

came into my bed

I strung it between my fingers

sighing.

I could no longer touch you

without it rubbing against your skin

and there was only time then

until it all came loose and I ran 

out of rope to tie me to our dreams. 

Now all the space I 

rushed to fill with tenderness

even as I retreated

stands hollow

and I slowly breathe into it

my little lungs giving 

new meaning

to emptiness that is so full

of itself.

________________________________________


April 22nd 

I broke something
and so much beauty came
rushing from it.

I stand bewildered.

Even if I wanted to go back
to look for the pieces
hoping to meet you on the road

I know better than
to interrupt this sacred light
that's come into these little lives of ours
with my human
fumblings

________________________________________

April 15th

This place

has taken away my 

soft edges

The things I loved

most

about my sweet womanhood.

and now all these
little things

are snagging on my personality.

There are burrs 
and spider bites

to pull out of this skin

Things that have crept 

into my bed.

Now absolutes stand

boulders blocking a path

towards the place between

all of our bodies.

It's a time
to lie down in the swollen spring river of my life
and let mountain water flush my skin.

I am made of water,
but I'm becoming a mountain here.


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Help fund my artistic journey through Northern Ireland where I will be researching and finishing my book, working title Dear Bird for 3-4 months. Learn more about my campaign and donate here. Thank you!

Poetry Month 3

Seams

All my friends
are cracking at their seams
dreaming of other beds
other quilts we could be making.

Is this the burden
of being young women?
making a home for
ourselves and all that is to come
and all that has passed,
all at once?
No wonder we all break down
together
flush ourselves out of it all
from time to time.

We rinse our souls out with poetry,
tug and twist all the excess,
hang the lace and burlap and chiffon
in the warm breezes.
All of those seams tugging and pulling
at the spring time
while I sit up in bed late,
pulling out the seams of another quilt
I tired to cover this little life with
this winter

And above us the moon
cleans her own soul;
slips in behind the earth
and comes on out, hands opened -
a mother come back from the grocery
surprised at her children's tears
and hunger for her arms.
Unwilling to give us any understanding
that it is her wild movements that
send us spinning,
break the bonds we thought sacred.
And unwilling to promise never to leave again.


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Help fund my artistic journey through Northern Ireland where I will be researching and finishing my book, working title Dear Bird for 3-4 months. Learn more about my campaign and donate here. Thank you!

Poetry Month 2

Cards

I am a table of cups
(some call them hearts.
I've been given a different deck)
The Ten
The Three
The Prince and the Queen.
At the end, the Ace;
All of it leading back to me.

No matter how the ground of California
should crack it's knuckles
and try to roll me from my bed,
      a lover waking up and groaning beside me
I remain stable,
holding that one vessel against
this belly
Trusting this soil
even as it tries to buck me from
whatever footing I've gained in these years.

One last time
this City of Angels will lash out at me,
even as I dash,
sipping at the sweet, heavy wine in this
the cup that's been given to me.

Poetry Month 1

April in National Poetry Month and many of the lovely women and men I have participated in writing communities with over the years are joining the call to write a poem every day this month. Poetry has never exactly been my creative voice of choice, but being a part of a larger group of creatives tugging words up from streets of our lives excites me, even if we are all spread out in ways we couldn't anticipate way back when. So I'll join in as I can!

--

Harbors

I am dreaming of leaving
Late into the morning.
After I should have been awake hours ago,
I am heavy in my bed, visiting the other apartments I have left.

Last night
I found that I had left behind two birds
together in a cage.
When I returned to sweep the last of my life
they looked at me weakly,
their eyes sad and their feathers fatigued with hunger
and I had no idea if I should just kill them right then
or release them to find a new home without me.

In my panic within the dream, I walked away,
choosing nothing.

Perhaps we are ships,
put into a harbor now, swaying next to the kitchen sink
watching each other as we rise and fall
through the tides of our lives, thinking
"but we came here for a quiet night away from the seas!"
Feeling cheated by the one truth of life.
So to make up for it
we grab hands from across the bed,
hold one another by the hips and hair and shoulders
Crying out "ah, isn't being in love as hard as going without!"

These women and I.

As our desert city heats up,
we open bottle after bottle of red wine,
sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor
passing slurred stories of our fears
round the circle,
Knowing these sweet nights will end
once we untie ourselves from the harbor
and move back into the higher seas of life.

My Packing List

When I left Minnesota, I was lightweight. Light from dropping off the last bits of a heavy heartbreak, light from selling all of my furniture and light from fitting all that I needed into a suitcase, a backpack and a carry on bag. I took off with my one-way plane ticket running that muggy August day, off and away towards the ocean. I hope that in some way I feel the same relief of the weight of my possessions when I leave California, but only time will tell for sure. I only have a 4-door '98 Volvo, which is much more space than when I came West, but probably less space than I anticipate - how much will I really be able to carry?

Then comes the actual packing of the backpack which I will take across Europe for at least six months. I've started to make a list, hidden in a google doc that I steal away to from time to time and think about all the things I want to bring with me. I've done research on the "best way to fold your clothes" "how many articles of clothing do you really need for an around-the-world trip" and "must haves for the fashionable female traveler" but in a lot of ways, I'm waiting so badly for the time to come when I can actually begin rolling up the wrinkle-resistant clothes and go for it.

What can I carry on my back and what will I leave behind?

Slowly, I've begun to slip my fingers into the ground, find the pathways these roots have grown into and begin to pull them forth from the earth. I've found - and I should not be surprised - how many roots I've grown here which I did not expect. I've been touching the sorts of soil and memories I had happily ignored until it was time to leave. I've been finding deep deep holes of love and emotion I was not prepared for in this dry soil of the foothills in California. I've always known this would be a hard transition and that I could not rip these roots from the ground, but we're honing in on 2.5 months left and there are a lot of things still to do.

I feel like I'm suspended above my emotions right now - looking down at the transition I'm going through and wondering why I'm off kilter. So much is so good. But there's no point in trying to understand the way life is pushing and pulling tonight. I accept that this place is one I don't need to understand and let time move around my fingers like a river. I'll be swimming in the current, my hair being tugged and tangled again soon enough. Coming in and out of focus and riding waves to and from high tide is a part of life, another thing to embrace and lean into. So I'll try to stop digging my fingers into opening the door to happiness for now, and allow myself to sit with my dear friends, eat good food, look up at the mountains when the sun shines just right. Collect the joy and the sadness like pebbles in my pockets, carry them in the seams of my clothes.

For now I'm plotting out maps, highlighting a guidebook, finishing up the packing list. My bag is ready, I just need to wait a little more before I can pack it up. And there are so many lovely people and places here, I'm happy to do just that.

A Request

Dear Friends,

As many of you have heard: I have made some big decisions and I am approaching the beginning of a life-changing adventure. I have decided to leave Los Angeles and move home to Minnesota, but before I do that I am taking some personal time to travel and work on the book I have been writing for the past several years. 

I am writing to you today to invite you to help me with this journey, in any small or large way you can or wish to do so. Anything you are able to give would humble me and push me to do better. I am NOT asking you to help me to go on vacation (all of the beginning part of this trip can most certainly be classified as vacation and I am paying for that.) From October 2014 until at least January 2015 I will be in Northern Ireland, working on my book: working title Dear Bird. I have decided that I want to devote myself to my artistic self and to this project I have already given so much to. Frankly, I will never finish the book until I go back and spend a significant amount of time in Northern Ireland, learning with and from the people, as well as devoting time to do some serious writing work. There is no time like the present to take a risk and go for it. 

I am currently arranging a location where I will be able to volunteer in exchange for room and board, in order to keep my costs low. However this most likely means I will be outside of Derry, the city where my novel takes place. The group I am hoping to volunteer with would provide me with a myriad of opportunities to learn about the history and culture of Northern Ireland, but I will also need to see different places and feel them out with my hands and soul. The funds I am requesting will be for travel expenses to get around the country, hostels, food, living expenses, etc for the 3-4 months. Depending on where I am at at the end of the volunteering stay, I may wish to find a writing residency where I can work for a few weeks to a month while it is all fresh. 

My goal is to not limit myself because of resources, but to keep my costs as low as possible. 

Your help will allow me to fully engage with the culture and experience without worrying about my ability to afford any trips, meetings, excursions or living essentials I need along the way. I will be able to fully engage with the writing of the story, wherever that leads me. 

I have created a Go Fund Me campaign page, where you can donate to me and the money will come to my bank account where I will allocate it only towards this portion of my upcoming trip. Unlike other crowd funding websites, I do not have to meet my goal to receive the donation you choose to give me. The link to this page is: http://www.gofundme.com/76york

Attached to this email you will find a writing sample from the book, as well as story of how the novel formed and where I see it going now. 

Please ask me questions, tell me stories, help in any way you feel is appropriate. I thank everyone for the love and support and promise to keep my little corner of the world posted on the journey I am about to embark upon. Feel free to pass the message along, and to follow my blog as I keep it updated on the journey as it happens. 

Peace, joy and love always,

Katy Cashman