Last night, I told a heavy story with Fugitive Stories at the Kickstand Cafe in Arlington.

It’s the one about my Dad.  And my baby blanket.  And the complicated relationship I continued with each of them for the vast majority of my life.  It includes divorce.  And drinking.  And drugs.  And separation.  And reconciliation.

It’s the most powerful tale I’ve got.  And every time I tell it, afterwards people want to talk.  Hug.  Share.  Open up.  Break down.

Last night was no exception.

I adore (crave, want, desire) being on stage.  I feel…turned on by the energy and attention that I’m both putting out and taking in.  It’s amazing and fulfilling – but it’s still second to the afterwards.

Most of the time, I struggle with direction.  Strategy.  With what to do when, where, and why.  I beat myself up.  But, that’s never the case after I’ve just poured my heart out.

When someone comes up to me in tears, or all smiles, or filled with fear and courage and says, “thank you,” or “I needed that,” or “me, too,” or “how can I?,” or “I love you.”…it’s in those moments that I actually feel like I’m giving it (this, life) all I’ve got.  And that I’ve got a lot.

It’s when I feel the most Me.  When I can see the you-est You.  When I know with certainty that We are totally and completely, enough.