The day is held in check. In the wake of a difficult stretch of time, I sit in pause taking a break from everything and watch the people go by. For a brief moment in time, I am merely using this wall as the saddle for the planet I'm riding. Sometimes you just have to go for the ride.
It's a strange equation, the additions and subtractions, the divisions in all of the ambiguous intentions of the people who parade by. What are they fighting for? Why can't they talk to one another? What would they say if they tried? Most people, I'm afraid, are just unprepared for the feelings they might discover. What would happen if...
...you really told people how you feel...
...you reached for the things you want rather than wait for them to come to you...
...you found the strength and clarity to stop doing things that harm you...
...you allowed one ray of light in...
...one sight to touch you...
...one leap of faith to fling you into the unknown?
What if? Can you afford to never find out?
Inner conflict is like a knotted rope. It's thick, tight, and heavy, and you have to untie it to see its simplicity. The very reason that it becomes so knotted is because the rope itself is a blend of many smaller parts, and yes, even in there you can find simplicity. We just see the whole knot for what it is, and most of the time, we accept the whole mess because we feel it defines us...but the opposite is actually true. The fact that we hold it defines us. We can ask the questions. We can unravel the mess and lighten our load. We just choose not to.
Last Sunday, I began the process of resigning as the managing director at Playhouse West. I am walking away from my home of ten years because I want to see what it is I'm meant to do next. I'm taking responsibility for myself and myself alone, and I'm putting a stop to the selfless support of other peoples ideas, projects where they intend on keeping full credit, and the act of filling in the cracks only because I'm able to. I'm making a push towards self-fulfillment, and that includes partnerships, unique situations where people will meet me halfway. That's where my creativity needs to live from here on.
My resignation was received with surprising understanding, healthy encouragement, and a pledge for Playhouse West to remain a part of my life. The offer was re-extended to teach, and endless support and resources when I'm ready to evolve into filmmaking.
Sometimes, in order to go where you want to go, you merely have to believe you are already there. Is it really that simple?
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Saturday, September 16, 2006
The Cycle of Rebirth
Sitting outside still navigating the path of my heart, an old friend reappears in my mind, right when I'm trying to write but failing miserably:
C: What are you trying to do?
S: I'm...well, I had an answer for you, but I caught it. That was weird.
C: Want to know what I think?
S: Of course.
C: I think you're still trying to spin the experience. You want to recover a loss by creating something from it.
S: Maybe.
C: You can't force it, though. I feel like you're trying to force things right now.
S: I don't know about that. It's a little different. What you just said sounds...mental...cerebral....
C: Heady.
S: Yeah, I think that's better. There's stuff inside me right now and it almost feels like it needs to be cut out.
C: Or maybe...
S: What?
C: Have you considered the possibility that you don't feel anything about this latest change?
Pause. The fountain trickles and people silently exist in the distance.
S: Do you think...it's possible for me to feel nothing about it? I was debating with co-workers over our stupid advertising campaign yesterday. What do I really care about our ads? I think I was just choosing an obvious side for the sake of argument. I think I just feel too much sometimes.
C: Maybe you just feel...differently about this one thing than you expected to. I know you're very sensitive about transitions.
S: So how do I feel about this? You, as a direct connection about my subconscious, should know.
C: You know I hate it when you tag me like that. This works so much better when we can just talk without defining our roles in your brain.
S: Right. Sorry.
Pause. Thought.
C: You really want to know what I think?
S: Sure.
C: I think you're a searcher. Most artists are.
S: Meaning?
C: It would be too easy for me to say that you feel let down by people, especially people whom you're invested in. You tend to search for moments of truth, like looking for food with a specific flavor, and when you come across something surprisingly bland or predictable, it actually leaves a bitter taste in your mind. You're left wondering if it's an acquired taste or it just tastes like shit, after which you get frustrated with the honesty of the whole situation and whether or not you wasted your time. As you let that linger, you start searching for whatever you think is now missing as a result.
S: That's an interesting theory.
C: You asked....
S: It's a bit of a bohemian approach to relating to people, isn't it? I starve myself to filter out the things that are false? Is that how that works?
C: No, not at all. I think you're perfectly normal to sit out here and seek advice from an imaginary person.
S: That's convenient, how you can point this stuff out and I can't.
C: It's about context, my friend. So what do you do with all this now?
S: Just walk away. Rise above. Grow again.
People come into your lives because there is something in us that is ready for them at that time, ready for the lessons they have to teach us. Sometimes they're a test for the mistakes we've made in the past, and sometimes they're a warning about the future. Either way, each person is priceless, like the raindrops that reflect the world around us for the few seconds before they fall on our shoulders.
Just walk away. Rise above. Grow again.
C: What are you trying to do?
S: I'm...well, I had an answer for you, but I caught it. That was weird.
C: Want to know what I think?
S: Of course.
C: I think you're still trying to spin the experience. You want to recover a loss by creating something from it.
S: Maybe.
C: You can't force it, though. I feel like you're trying to force things right now.
S: I don't know about that. It's a little different. What you just said sounds...mental...cerebral....
C: Heady.
S: Yeah, I think that's better. There's stuff inside me right now and it almost feels like it needs to be cut out.
C: Or maybe...
S: What?
C: Have you considered the possibility that you don't feel anything about this latest change?
Pause. The fountain trickles and people silently exist in the distance.
S: Do you think...it's possible for me to feel nothing about it? I was debating with co-workers over our stupid advertising campaign yesterday. What do I really care about our ads? I think I was just choosing an obvious side for the sake of argument. I think I just feel too much sometimes.
C: Maybe you just feel...differently about this one thing than you expected to. I know you're very sensitive about transitions.
S: So how do I feel about this? You, as a direct connection about my subconscious, should know.
C: You know I hate it when you tag me like that. This works so much better when we can just talk without defining our roles in your brain.
S: Right. Sorry.
Pause. Thought.
C: You really want to know what I think?
S: Sure.
C: I think you're a searcher. Most artists are.
S: Meaning?
C: It would be too easy for me to say that you feel let down by people, especially people whom you're invested in. You tend to search for moments of truth, like looking for food with a specific flavor, and when you come across something surprisingly bland or predictable, it actually leaves a bitter taste in your mind. You're left wondering if it's an acquired taste or it just tastes like shit, after which you get frustrated with the honesty of the whole situation and whether or not you wasted your time. As you let that linger, you start searching for whatever you think is now missing as a result.
S: That's an interesting theory.
C: You asked....
S: It's a bit of a bohemian approach to relating to people, isn't it? I starve myself to filter out the things that are false? Is that how that works?
C: No, not at all. I think you're perfectly normal to sit out here and seek advice from an imaginary person.
S: That's convenient, how you can point this stuff out and I can't.
C: It's about context, my friend. So what do you do with all this now?
S: Just walk away. Rise above. Grow again.
People come into your lives because there is something in us that is ready for them at that time, ready for the lessons they have to teach us. Sometimes they're a test for the mistakes we've made in the past, and sometimes they're a warning about the future. Either way, each person is priceless, like the raindrops that reflect the world around us for the few seconds before they fall on our shoulders.
Just walk away. Rise above. Grow again.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Like Any Other Day
I sat in the courtyard today, too distracted to read, staring at the reflection of my building in the twin adjacent to it, with my sunglasses on and my iPod isolating me from the people around me. I looked at the reflection, recognizing it, but thinking about things thousands of miles away. With thoughts the size and consistency of clouds hovering over me, I sat for fifteen minutes not really putting anything together. I just looked at images in my mind.
Of course, I did spend the whole day with a perpetual TV broadcast at my desk, the bells constantly tolling in my mind at ground zero. I was here, alone, when the attacks happened five years ago, and two months after that I lost my job with thousands of others in the massive layoffs that followed. I did a lot of writing and rehearsing in the year that followed, but the thing that came back to me today was the numbness of that whole period of time. I looked at the people at today, and I wonder if they've changed since that time. I wondered if they actually experienced more emotion when the company started laying off people in huge waves. Specifically, I'm talking about the people who say the same things every single day at pretty much the same time: "Howdy howdy" in the morning. "How are you?" repeated five or six times in mid-morning. "See you tomorrow / Have a good night" connected as one thought at 4:45pm. Are those the same people who want to put this particular anniversary behind them?
If there's one thing I can't stand, and this climbs under my skin like that little creature from "Alien", it's indifference. I'm not just talking about the big things, either. I'm talking about the little details, like the store clerk who feels largely ignored, the unlucky person who spills change or a stack of papers, even the person walking towards a door they're going to have difficulty opening on their own. These people slip through the cracks, and on a daily basis I see people complete a transaction, walk past a person in need, or glance back and allow the door to close anyway. I work with a few hundred people who, if they can't figure out how to do something, will walk away leaving something undone. They'll ask me to do something I can complete in front of them and watch me do heavy work without offering to help.
What happened to the people who suddenly awoke in September 2001? What happened to the community that stood up, lit candles, and had to console each other through months of flooding reality?
I think, maybe, people find comfort in the recurring pattern of indifference. It could be that people find safety in isolation. It could be true, that people are afraid to connect, afraid to make the commitment to a stranger, because life is unpredictable, and we're all so damned sensitive.
As I looked up at the reflection of the building behind me, I realized that yes, I've chosen to break off contact with some people in my life. Yes, I'm sitting there with music in my ears, hiding behind sunglasses while I sit in the shade. It's also very true that I'm learning not to make such a commitment to people I could know better, because in many ways I've been let down in the past. It's all so very unavoidable if you want to experience life...
...and today might be just another day to some people, but because I remember what it was like back then, I can consider myself pretty lucky that I'm still here to remember it. With all that in perspective, I shouldn't be afraid to try again.
Of course, I did spend the whole day with a perpetual TV broadcast at my desk, the bells constantly tolling in my mind at ground zero. I was here, alone, when the attacks happened five years ago, and two months after that I lost my job with thousands of others in the massive layoffs that followed. I did a lot of writing and rehearsing in the year that followed, but the thing that came back to me today was the numbness of that whole period of time. I looked at the people at today, and I wonder if they've changed since that time. I wondered if they actually experienced more emotion when the company started laying off people in huge waves. Specifically, I'm talking about the people who say the same things every single day at pretty much the same time: "Howdy howdy" in the morning. "How are you?" repeated five or six times in mid-morning. "See you tomorrow / Have a good night" connected as one thought at 4:45pm. Are those the same people who want to put this particular anniversary behind them?
If there's one thing I can't stand, and this climbs under my skin like that little creature from "Alien", it's indifference. I'm not just talking about the big things, either. I'm talking about the little details, like the store clerk who feels largely ignored, the unlucky person who spills change or a stack of papers, even the person walking towards a door they're going to have difficulty opening on their own. These people slip through the cracks, and on a daily basis I see people complete a transaction, walk past a person in need, or glance back and allow the door to close anyway. I work with a few hundred people who, if they can't figure out how to do something, will walk away leaving something undone. They'll ask me to do something I can complete in front of them and watch me do heavy work without offering to help.
What happened to the people who suddenly awoke in September 2001? What happened to the community that stood up, lit candles, and had to console each other through months of flooding reality?
I think, maybe, people find comfort in the recurring pattern of indifference. It could be that people find safety in isolation. It could be true, that people are afraid to connect, afraid to make the commitment to a stranger, because life is unpredictable, and we're all so damned sensitive.
As I looked up at the reflection of the building behind me, I realized that yes, I've chosen to break off contact with some people in my life. Yes, I'm sitting there with music in my ears, hiding behind sunglasses while I sit in the shade. It's also very true that I'm learning not to make such a commitment to people I could know better, because in many ways I've been let down in the past. It's all so very unavoidable if you want to experience life...
...and today might be just another day to some people, but because I remember what it was like back then, I can consider myself pretty lucky that I'm still here to remember it. With all that in perspective, I shouldn't be afraid to try again.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Never Looking Back
I'm sitting in the middle of multiple projects, some dominating the schedule, others taking a moment to breathe, and a couple more sitting to either side of me, with notes and tasks waiting for me...just waiting for attention like a hungry child. I'm ultra aware of all of them, and here I am, a full six months after I promised myself I wouldn't drive my schedule to an insane level of drowning in schizophrenia. I only had two shows to support and worry about in the last quarter of 2005. I now have four.
When this kind of thing happens - and if you know me well, you know that it's unavoidable - the urge to reach back to my past for support is distracting. The load I carry with me becomes an object of examination.
So I stop...for one weekend. I think about where I'm spending my energy. I think about how I'm spending my time. I take slow, deliberate steps towards things I have to do rather than things I'm expected to do. Where there's waste of effort on my part, I cut off excess. That resulted in breaking off contact with one person tonight, a decision that wouldn't be obvious if not for the deletion of one friend on MySpace. (When did this website become a social resume?) It becomes a measurement of who and what is part of my future, versus what only exists in my past. If you're a friend here, you're obviously not merely a part of my past.
Look around you. Who is real, and who is a ghost of your past? Who will exchange with you, and who has already moved on?
If this kind of sounds like a sequel to previous blog postings, or maybe a recurring theme, rest assured that this is one of the only side effects of chasing this manic creative life. It's a cycle of re-evaluation and awareness that can, on one hand, make me a little cold and blunt, but on the other hand, where I conserve energy, I give more of myself to the parts of my life that remain. It's hard to let go sometimes, but I find comfort in the fact that my life is full of change. As I just wrote in a play, the holes and cracks that sometimes form in my life will often be filled with surprising things. That cycle keeps moving forward, churning the ground after the harvest and always waiting for seeds to be planted and fresh roots to dig deep. I pull out the weeds, the dead plants, and I keep the soil fresh. I think that makes me an optimistic gardener.
To the people who truly exist in the present, I feel you here with me. You are a part of the safe feeling I create from, part of what makes me hungry to try something new. You help justify the life I've chosen, and in my constant re-evaluation, I never lose sight of you.
When this kind of thing happens - and if you know me well, you know that it's unavoidable - the urge to reach back to my past for support is distracting. The load I carry with me becomes an object of examination.
So I stop...for one weekend. I think about where I'm spending my energy. I think about how I'm spending my time. I take slow, deliberate steps towards things I have to do rather than things I'm expected to do. Where there's waste of effort on my part, I cut off excess. That resulted in breaking off contact with one person tonight, a decision that wouldn't be obvious if not for the deletion of one friend on MySpace. (When did this website become a social resume?) It becomes a measurement of who and what is part of my future, versus what only exists in my past. If you're a friend here, you're obviously not merely a part of my past.
Look around you. Who is real, and who is a ghost of your past? Who will exchange with you, and who has already moved on?
If this kind of sounds like a sequel to previous blog postings, or maybe a recurring theme, rest assured that this is one of the only side effects of chasing this manic creative life. It's a cycle of re-evaluation and awareness that can, on one hand, make me a little cold and blunt, but on the other hand, where I conserve energy, I give more of myself to the parts of my life that remain. It's hard to let go sometimes, but I find comfort in the fact that my life is full of change. As I just wrote in a play, the holes and cracks that sometimes form in my life will often be filled with surprising things. That cycle keeps moving forward, churning the ground after the harvest and always waiting for seeds to be planted and fresh roots to dig deep. I pull out the weeds, the dead plants, and I keep the soil fresh. I think that makes me an optimistic gardener.
To the people who truly exist in the present, I feel you here with me. You are a part of the safe feeling I create from, part of what makes me hungry to try something new. You help justify the life I've chosen, and in my constant re-evaluation, I never lose sight of you.
Friday, September 08, 2006
A Translation Through You
I saw this in a friend's blog and feel compelled to share it. Actually, this friend has a lot to teach me about the creative process, but even more so, she's a validation of the support that artists have for one another.
This is an excerpt of a letter, a piece of advice from the great Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille.
"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. you have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.
No artist is pleased...there is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."
This is an excerpt of a letter, a piece of advice from the great Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille.
"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. you have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open.
No artist is pleased...there is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."
Monday, September 04, 2006
The Do-ality of Man
A long time ago, I made a choice to lead a certain kind of life with little actual knowledge of where it would lead me. I literally reacted to a life that was and ran into the closest door of opportunity I could find, distracted from failure and self-doubt by raw emotion and fear. I was at the back door of a failed relationship and a reputation that did a spectacular supernova in the wake of it. It took me three years to wander, to wade, to slowly shed a skin before I could start again. In July of 1996, I joined Playhouse West.
For the next ten years, I functioned without any knowledge of that alternate life, the one I had failed at and could have chosen to attempt again. Everyone does, but my fear was that everyone compromises somehow so that they wouldn't be alone, and I, on the other hand, would much rather resign myself to being alone and being comfortable with that. I hold all the cards. Nobody gambles with me. Everything I get, I earn. I work, I create, and when I'm done, I walk away.
Of course, there is that other side. There's that dark side of the moon that I never revisited. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I shared the moon on brief occasions (brief, when you look at the 13 years from the supernova that changed my programming). That dark side...or is it on the dark side that I live? That other side haunts me sometimes. I've noticed it more lately. Sure, I've mentioned eHarmony (which still scares the living shit out of me sometimes - I'm compatible with her? 29 dimensions my ass!), but that's more the product of good intentions from my family.
So enough about me.
It seems that whatever decision you make, when it's a bold one you always find a moment to wonder what your life would be like to swing back in the other direction. Or maybe you just wonder what it would be like to swing away from this particular place, to wander off the path you've been travelling for so long. I've said goodbye to so many friends at Playhouse and at work, some with a heartfelt goodbye and a kiss on the cheek, others with silence. It's those people who make you think about alternatives, about all the options you have and never exercise. There is a little death in a goodbye....
Somehow this is different. By "this", I'm talking about the departure of my conscience and greatest champion - Andrea - from Playhouse. I'm using the word departure prematurely, because what she's actually doing is trailblazing a path that others will follow, and...here's the difference...I'm going to follow her. I have walked through the Playhouse theaters many times with a lump in my throat, because I knew someday it would all come to an end. I haven't exactly given an indication that I would leave, or that I'd slow down my involvement, but at the same time, I haven't seen many reasons to stay. For now, I'm planning on straddling the boundary line. I'm not making this change because I'm disgruntled, or just for the loyalty I have for Andrea; This makes sense for the evolution of my artistic life. I can do more than I'm doing now. I should start moving towards places that will support me more than expect me to fulfill imaginary responsibilities.
Did that sound disgruntled? Can I flip it and make it sound gruntled?
So all this goes towards an indication that I'm restless again. I can foresee at least five more drafts of my adoption/foster play, then there's the production of "the Shape of Things", a one-act festival, and the return of the musical possibly hanging somewhere in the balance there. Next year...more productions, more self-imposed challenges will come, but I have a feeling that they might not be lost in the blur of other priorities this time.
I am, after all, always thinking of alternatives, about the things I can create or help create, with inspiration from the trailblazers and the people who I think chose the harder route of making relationships work on the way to creating a family. How my friends have made that work is beyond me. It's amazing. The life I chose for myself has a completely different set of rules.
For the next ten years, I functioned without any knowledge of that alternate life, the one I had failed at and could have chosen to attempt again. Everyone does, but my fear was that everyone compromises somehow so that they wouldn't be alone, and I, on the other hand, would much rather resign myself to being alone and being comfortable with that. I hold all the cards. Nobody gambles with me. Everything I get, I earn. I work, I create, and when I'm done, I walk away.
Of course, there is that other side. There's that dark side of the moon that I never revisited. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I shared the moon on brief occasions (brief, when you look at the 13 years from the supernova that changed my programming). That dark side...or is it on the dark side that I live? That other side haunts me sometimes. I've noticed it more lately. Sure, I've mentioned eHarmony (which still scares the living shit out of me sometimes - I'm compatible with her? 29 dimensions my ass!), but that's more the product of good intentions from my family.
So enough about me.
It seems that whatever decision you make, when it's a bold one you always find a moment to wonder what your life would be like to swing back in the other direction. Or maybe you just wonder what it would be like to swing away from this particular place, to wander off the path you've been travelling for so long. I've said goodbye to so many friends at Playhouse and at work, some with a heartfelt goodbye and a kiss on the cheek, others with silence. It's those people who make you think about alternatives, about all the options you have and never exercise. There is a little death in a goodbye....
Somehow this is different. By "this", I'm talking about the departure of my conscience and greatest champion - Andrea - from Playhouse. I'm using the word departure prematurely, because what she's actually doing is trailblazing a path that others will follow, and...here's the difference...I'm going to follow her. I have walked through the Playhouse theaters many times with a lump in my throat, because I knew someday it would all come to an end. I haven't exactly given an indication that I would leave, or that I'd slow down my involvement, but at the same time, I haven't seen many reasons to stay. For now, I'm planning on straddling the boundary line. I'm not making this change because I'm disgruntled, or just for the loyalty I have for Andrea; This makes sense for the evolution of my artistic life. I can do more than I'm doing now. I should start moving towards places that will support me more than expect me to fulfill imaginary responsibilities.
Did that sound disgruntled? Can I flip it and make it sound gruntled?
So all this goes towards an indication that I'm restless again. I can foresee at least five more drafts of my adoption/foster play, then there's the production of "the Shape of Things", a one-act festival, and the return of the musical possibly hanging somewhere in the balance there. Next year...more productions, more self-imposed challenges will come, but I have a feeling that they might not be lost in the blur of other priorities this time.
I am, after all, always thinking of alternatives, about the things I can create or help create, with inspiration from the trailblazers and the people who I think chose the harder route of making relationships work on the way to creating a family. How my friends have made that work is beyond me. It's amazing. The life I chose for myself has a completely different set of rules.
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