I think we’re all doing all of this for those times in life where everything clicks. Things feel right. There’s excitement. And growing. And laughing. And margaritas. And stars. And art. And joy. And creating.
And these clicks don’t happen often—making them all the more moving. A click that snaps and shifts everything inside quickly into place.
That was last week for me in Marfa at the Transom Traveling Workshop.
We made radio. Ten of us from all over the country—and world! one of us from Australia!—traveled to the high desert of West Texas to tell stories via radio.
I took a gamble and got an AirBNB with two people from the program—you know, strangers. My gamble paid off handsomely. We stayed in this beautiful, art-filled home. We drank wine together. Read together out on the back porch in the mornings. (Well, until it snowed.) We all stayed up way too late, questioning why our pieces weren’t working and—in turn—what we were doing with our lives. It was real. It was awesome. And I got to wake up to this couple every morning…
The first night, we all took a walk down a long dirt road to watch a supermoon rise. It was a telling force. All of us strangers, walking and watching together.
We hit the ground running. Listening to amazing radio. Laughing as we figured out we basically all had the same sense of humor and were all falling fast in love with each other. Learning how to use gear, programs, and each other’s sage expertise.
Between our marathon radio-making sessions at our home-base of Marfa Public Radio, we found little snippets of time to explore Marfa.
The funny montage of photos does it no justice. It was a town alive. A time alive.
Most nights were spent in the radio station, drinking wine out of coffee cups and writing and editing. Then we’d all call it and go to a bar for a margarita and some tacos.
The best night was when all of us went out to an incredible restaurant called Stellina together. They had incredible food and one of my favorite wines. We all unwound. We all laughed. We shared stories and guessed ages. Then Emilio Estevez came in with some friends and we all geeked out about a celebrity sighting in Marfa—which made us giggle a lot more. Going home that night, we pulled up to our home to see a creature circling our AirBNB. This HUGE hog-like javelina was very interested in the prickly pears on all the cacti in our yard. We screamed as we ran to the door and then would open doors around to hear the javelina snorting and snarfing down prickly pears. It was the most Marfa night.
Our last night in Marfa, we had a listening party. I was blown away by everyone’s radio. Wow. What a magic thing that happened in that one week.
Then it was back on the road—back to Georgetown—the next day. I reflected on the drive. Feeling the click. I heard this song on the radio twice. I had never really even listened to this song. Then twice!
Time with family—Evan included!—was so refreshing, too. Christmas time. Family time. Love.
On the way back to Bozeman, we had a long layover in Salt Lake City. The show—my first radio story ever!—was going to be playing live on Marfa Public Radio. So Evan and I stopped into a quiet wine bar and both plugged our earbuds in and streamed it on our phones. Listening. Excited.
It was perfect. Running around, making it work. It made me happier than I thought it would—listening to our Marfa stories with Evan in an airport bar. I loved it. I would watch him react to colleagues stories and be the Lil John of public radio. Saying, “I love that!” “Yeah!” “Isn’t that the best?” “Right?!” So proud.
We then left the airport and went to some SLC faves—Red Iguana and Bar X—to celebrate it all. The clicking.
It’s been a good trip. It was a good click.
Listen here: http://marfapublicradio.org/blog/west-texas-talk/stories-from-the-transom-traveling-workshop-part-two/
[hey baby.]
wull hay. 
[…] And then MARFA! Learning how to make radio! What a perfect week. It was incredible. That one was a […]
[…] had dabbled in radio and was fresh-off a Transom workshop in Marfa, Texas. I wanted to tell stories in radio. I wanted to be Ira Glass. I wanted an […]