Last night I performed with Enver and friends at a benefit in a yoga studio. Fantastic lineup of performers! The Dancemonks, Mirah Moriarty and Rodrigo Esteva, moved me especially with their balls-out, vulnerable, athletic performance. Philip Gelb improvised haunting melodies on shakuhachi flute. I improvised a poem about, what else, flying, while Unity Nguyen played the African kora--a 12-stringed harp--to accompany me. Enver did a beautiful story/dance about the desert, Dana deLong also played flute, and Benjamin Jarrett danced, and a man who wasn't on the program played a pinecone, which was surprisingly melodic.

This morning, gray fog, slight rain, mild depression. It's been a tough month. A lot of good things are coming out of it: an overhaul of the house, (thank you, David and Julie for your courage in moving in,) new computer thanks to the extreme generosity of Robbie Strand, new possibilities for playing with power, balance and strength in relationships, thanks to AcroPlay and Scott Longwell's work.

Oh, and the other day a letter informing me that the ms. for See How We Almost Fly had come in as one of the top ten finalists in the Pearl book competition, but the winner is someone else.

I handled January's challenges pretty well, I think; got the house secured, did what needed to be done. I'm especially proud of how I rolled with a disappointment in a romantic relationship without collapsing or exploding. That was actually the hardest thing, and I'm going to call it major progress.

For today, a little work, a lot of self-care: morning pages, gratitude list, student critiques, clean room, swim hard, go over G's house and listen to Carol King sing I Feel The Earth Move--corny but potent--have a good dinner, watch The Sopranos. Now there are people with real problems.