On crossroads

I stand by what I said before: “home” is as much a physical place as it is a feeling, a relationship with things and people around you. I’ve found that my definition of home evolves through time. It’s fickle, sometimes stubborn. Malleable.

This east coast tour is quite special to me on a personal level — not just because it’s our first one as a band but also because it takes us through cities that hold a special place in my heart. I’ve spent my fair share of time in Boston with family and dear friends. My love affair with New York is one that never ceases to flicker because of the plethora of things the city has to offer. Washington, D.C. begat my first-ever solo album and was the springboard for my musical life. The east coast has been a second home to me.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time trying to reconcile the rift between east and west and have since then given up on trying to find a happy medium. I decided that I am the medium because of how much I love both places. I’ll never be able to give up perennial sunshine, idyllic coasts, or flip flops. Simultaneously, I’ll never fall out of love with skyscrapers, city lights, and the litany of large crowds. I love my TV shows and my NPR podcasts. I’ll take my ComiCon and my museum lectures.  I’ll take my shopping sprees and my library splurges. At this point in my life, I realize that crossroads are the norm and not the exception. I’m perfectly content with that. I’m content with being who I am and everything (and everyone) that has led me to learn who that is.

The Dreamers and I played our first show in New York last night at Caffe Vivaldi. In a big way, this was a dream come true. A little less than two years ago, I was writing songs in an empty room on a hardwood floor, diffidently speculating, “What would it be like to play New York City with my own band, on tour?”

Last night, I answered that question for myself: it feels incredible.

Hush

I came across this article about the world’s quietest place: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2124581/The-worlds-quietest-place-chamber-Orfield-Laboratories.html

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This room “achieves its ultra-quietness by virtue of 3.3-foot-thick fiberglass acoustic wedges, double walls of insulated steel and foot-thick concrete.”

If prison systems could adopt this kind of technology, it would change the crudity of getting sentenced to isolation.

“In the anechoic chamber, you become the sound.”

This room is a type of auditory desert, where you’re left with nothing but yourself. I wonder how silence affects different people due to socio-cultural/psychological factors. Some Buddhist monks spend years in silence, whereas some people can’t fall asleep unless there is some kind of white noise in the background. 
 
The longest anyone has spent in this room by themselves is 45 minutes. Why do we associate silence with solitude and subsequently loneliness? How can silence drive some people to the point of madness? Why does being alone carry a negative stigma in the first place?