I'm hosting the first installment of my regular storytelling show in our new home theater.

Our producer had made a connection with a theater owner who finally established his own building, and we were one of the first shows to premiere in that space.

I arrived at our new venue feeling nervous but ready to put on the most ambitious version of my storytelling show we'd yet done. While I was hosting the show, I got a large number of missed phone calls from the nursing home where my grandmother, who'd recently fallen very sick, was staying. It turns out that she'd passed away right as the show was starting.

It felt like almost a too-obvious point of transition -- feeling really embraced and effective in my (new) home city, shepherding something that I cared about deeply, while the last big element anchoring me to my old life had reached its end. I had more freedom -- a clearer and more open road -- than I'd ever had before. That also came with a helping of sorrow.

This evening felt like a flashpoint crystallizing the direction my life would take after I lost the last member of my immediate family -- I would follow friends, comedy, narrative, creativity. It felt good to have a creative community to be a part of, and I desperately needed it.