Friday, June 26. Yesterday we wrapped. Everyone is gone, I am here in DC (where I currently live), trying to get back to “real life” again. My head is still reeling, possibly more from the extreme lack of sleep in the past couple weeks than anything else, but certainly also from the complex mix of emotions reverberating through my heart and head. A week ago, I wanted nothing more than to be home in my own bed, with my own pillow, my own shower, my own kitchen, my dear boyfriend, and normal work hours. But finally being here has been existentially confusing, to say the least. It’s always difficult to close one chapter of your life and begin another, but perhaps somewhat easier when the break is a clear one– graduation, break-ups, birthdays, moving. This show made for an incredibly difficult few weeks, without much time for personal contemplation. Did I learn anything about myself? Am I any closer to answering the biggest question of all, the Why? Maybe this is what we all struggle with forever; eternal internal jihad. Is peace possible within oneself? Is it possible anywhere? I think that in all cases, we must believe and we must try. It’s easier sometimes than others.
Shooting here in DC after being on the road so long was strange for me. I am at home, yet still on the road. The same long hours, the same production crises, the same late nights, but the added complexity of returning home after a long absence. And then, as suddenly as it started, it was over. Goodbye RV, goodbye Bertha, goodbye extra mini-van seat, goodbye Penske truck with the scrapbook of hotel room keys stuck on the back with gaff tape. Hello bills that need paying, floors that need vacuuming, laundry that needs doing, dishes that need washing, back to the office every morning. Standing there, saying goodbye to this group of people who I’ve lived, sweat, worked, complained, cried, laughed, and loved with for the last month made all the stress and all the headaches melt away like ice cream under the Texas sun. There was a point, somewhere in the South, where I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into. But as I happily enjoy a highly selective memory, I know I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. And I’d start next week.
In Nashville we were privy to one of the most incredible electrical storms I’ve ever seen. The lightning stretched out in a brilliant web across the sky, like the hand of God reaching down to us. We stood on the balcony of the venue where we were shooting country singer Greta Gaines, no one willing to blink for fear we’d miss the next flash.
I’m sitting in my apartment on Capitol Hill right now. It’s small, but comfortable enough for my boyfriend and me. We have a velvet orange couch inherited from his parents and a string of paper star lights around the front window, wine bottles with pretty labels doubling as candleholders. It’s raining outside, that pounding warm summer rain that begins in the blink of an eye out of a still blue summer day. Thunder is rumbling in the distance, I am still partially delirious without sleep. The hail has started, it’s drumming on the windows and pinging the AC unit. The children next door are yelling and running inside to their mother, holding a pink towel and rushing them through the door. I make some iced tea, it’s still so hot and humid.
And now, like the climax of a dream, the sun is breaking through the clouds again and lighting up the yellow-green trees across the street, the hail is declining, and the rumbling thunder is fading into the distance. It seems fitting that the end of our journey be capped like this, a downpour to sooth our heads, cleanse our minds, wash away our transgressions. And after the deluge what is left but a sparkling new chapter, new friendships, new loves, new understanding, new perspectives. Not tears, but a blessing. Not the end, but the beginning.
-Lyzz
