Telling and Tending Stories.

Month: September 2024

  • Saturday Night Womb

    Saturday Night Womb

    It’s my first Saturday evening in Berlin out from under the cloud of jet lag. I’ve found a gorgeous little spot called Rhinoceros, a small, dark, candle-lit cocktail bar spinning jazz on vinyl. It’s one of a handful of English-forward places I’ve found—anywhere that calls itself a cocktail bar is liable to be, I think—and… Read more

  • A Failure to Communicate

    A Failure to Communicate

    The irony is not lost on me, going from my job as “The Communicator” to a place where I, mostly, cannot communicate. I’ve been here a week and a day. In the last weeks before my departure, I spent my churning anxiety steeling myself against the gnawing loneliness of these ten days, between landing and… Read more

  • Some Observations

    Some Observations

    This city—which I barely know, and much of which I have not seen—feels like no other city I know. It feels spacious. The streets are wide, with twice as much sidewalk as driving space. With space for a car or two to drive, parked cars to line the road, bikes to bike and bikes to… Read more

  • Deja Vu and All That

    Deja Vu and All That

    One of the beautiful mysteries of this journey that I’m on is that it echoes one that has shaped my life profoundly: my mom’s own journey to Germany for her masters degree (in German) as a 22 year old in 1968. My mama, Karen Seay, has agreed to share occasional reflections here, as my adventures… Read more

  • On Process

    On Process

    I am a fast typist with atrocious handwriting. I’ve always had a practice of sporadically—no pressure—keeping a journal, which has diminished in frequency steadily since my adolescence. I also, until I went full time and therefore full GCal, used to keep a paper planner. I also, when I was directing for my bread and butter,… Read more

  • Where I Am and How I Got Here

    Where I Am and How I Got Here

    Guten Morgen! I am here! In Berlin! In .  . . a flat. My huge windows are flung wide, and the church bells are ringing again, clamoring around the courtyard my flat faces. Between the peals, I can hear other Sunday morning sounds—a man unlocking his bike, a gabbling child, an unseen neighbor puttering around… Read more