I finished my film yesterday afternoon, and I couldn't even tell you.
Partly because it happened as everything happens over here these days--swirling and in the midst of so much else happening all around. There was a painting to pick up before the thunderstorms hit, a daughter to take for our weekly coffee shop date, then a spontaneous afternoon and dinner with our beloved friends and neighbors who are moving back to Germany today. Then as they descended down the stairs, another neighbor climbed up to watch the girls while my husband and I went for a night out at BAM with Neil Gaiman on his publication day, including a surprise visit by his wife Amanda Palmer, and hosted by my dear friend, Peter Aguero.
If you're wondering why I haven't written more lately, it's probably because this is almost typical of how my days have been flowing, one momentous or intense or emotional thing after another with scarcely room for a breath between.
The moment has required much of me.
It was also hard to say because my nerves felt raw and I was afraid that the minute I played the final cut back I would find more errors. I watched it this morning in that way you do when you've been looking at a work too closely and for too long and all you can see is every shortcoming and flaw and you've forgotten how to step back and to just let it happen to you, as something whole and complete and enough.
It's hard to say "finished" because you realize you could tweak and change the damn thing forever, if you let yourself.
It's hard to say "finished" because I collapse that with "perfect", and this is far from that.
It's hard to say "finished" because that means opting out of the striving and trying for something that might polish over and shine up my shortcomings and limitations.
It means letting you see me just as I am.
A woman with a swirling, twirling life, who spends an astonishing portion of her days cooking and washing dishes and brushing little girl hair up into "Rock Star" ponytails--who squeezes out this story around the edges of everything else. A beginner, a DIY addict who loves doing every part herself: the shooting to the editing, even if it means steep learning curves and countless imperfections.
My only peace this morning is to rest in the humility of this work. I have long known that it would not be a film shot with a whole crew and fancy equipment. I have always understood it would not be technically perfect. From the beginning I have trusted the heart of this project to carry the day--the love and intention beneath and behind it to shine something through that impacts people on a deeper level than technical execution can do alone.
And today I am trusting that still. Indie Kindred is a love letter to the music I love, the artists who inspire me, the community that carries me and so much more. It was created around the edges of a beautiful life and as an act of fierce faith and courage, the likes of which I have never attempted before.
I can already tell that on the other side of some rest (and a few hours of Masterpiece Mysteries), it will feel like about 90% of my brain capacity is freed back up again. I have a list of film stories I'd like to tell you before our summer tour begins. I share the first of these stories in the June issue of Kindred Magazine, which is now available for pre-order.
But before I sign off today, I want to thank you for believing in me. For being patient and understanding as I've had to let so many other things go to make space for this dream to be born. For being at my side all along the way.