I'm blowing off the dust from my keys this morning. I have landed and settled into the rolling rural landscape of Western Massachusetts. Since we don't get any phone reception in our strangely quaint yet utilitarian lodgings, I'v been pretending to be unreachable. So I'll pretend once again that I just discovered that we had free access to internet this entire time.

I spent this past week and a half getting acclimated to my new rural Massachusetts existence. I'm doubly immersing. I'm immersing myself in Berkshire foothill life, all the while riding a train to Kentucky during the rehearsal hours.

Speaking of rehearsal, we are in the heart of rehearsing our first of three plays, and we start a read-through of play number two on Monday. The first play is a two-character play, or a two-hander. So the air in our shared apartment is charged with deep concentration and slight brain fatigue as we struggle to learn our lines. It's safe to say that I am apprehensive and exhilarated by the notion of rehearsing two plays at a time.

But it hasn't been all work and no play. Since my arrival, we've had a nice sit-down dinner with our grill-master of a director. We've spent a lazy evening at he Dream-Away lodge listening to Appalacha-inspired music, picnicked and kayaked at Spectator pond, and karaoke'd at the biker bar next door.

Although I recognize the need to put more effort into maintaining ties with the outside world, it's awfully tempting to put life on hold as I roll through this summer.

Travel Logistics for the Logistically Challenged

I'm in a noisy coffee shop off of noisy street, and I'm attempting to drown out the cacophony in my head that is fretting about every precious detail of my fast-approaching departure to Massachusetts. My concentration is flickering in and out, like my jacked-up wireless signal which I'm stealing from the 'hipper' coffee shop across the street. And on top of the 'detail-freak' voice chattering away between my ears, the tyrannical 'figure-out-whachya-gonna-do-your-life' voice has made its presence known, intent on whispering insidious reminders and warnings.

I have a strange expectation for myself to have a fully-loaded power-point presentation of my life plan completed and ready before I take another step.

I've become a terrible executioner. Let me rephrase. I love forming master life-plans, but my devil is truly in the details. Since I began learning the "live in the moment" lessons, I'm not quite sure I understand just how to balance that idea, and also make some serious progress and changes in the practical world. Although, As I reflect back on my biggest and coolest accomplishments, I've realized that they all have come about when I was just willing to play around. Still it's becoming harder for me to trust that the details will just work themselves out.

One thing consistently remains the same (and redundant): I am genuinely excited for a change of pace and location. There is something freeing and wonderful about a new place. An opportunity for reinvention. When no one is around to remind you of old images you have of yourself, a space opens to become something new...or nothing at all, in the very best sense.