Say Goodbye

It's been a strange few weeks. I actually started to write a couple of times, but well...you know how it happens in my world. If I can describe it in two lines or a paragraph because I've mostly said it before, I'll dump the gas tanks and ditch in the ocean.

The past two weeks have been all about the phrase "I wish I knew them better" which is, of course, always said as an afterthought. Such as we are in this high speed attention span world, we see and experience things and suddenly we're ready to click on the next thing. The very next thing. Watch me raise my hand. I can be guilty of this myself, but possibly less than the average person because I constantly look for something genuine, and then I write about it, or create it in stories. I'm an opportunist in that respect; I really tell those who are close to me what I'm thinking and feeling to a fault. This little self-indulgent collection of journal entries is a great example fo that. Whom do I write this for? Here's my secret: I don't consider this writing. I'm recording myself, preserving the moment in a medium that comes as easily as speaking. Whether I'm any good at it is up to the viewer. This is just what I do.

Here's another secret: Even though I do all this, I still find myself saying "I wish I knew them better."

A few weeks ago, I lose another friend to cancer. It came switfly in two emails; my former boss, much better known as my great friend Cathy, wrote to me to tell me that her husband Dave was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer towards the end of last year. I immediately remembered Maxine, I remembered Siony, I remembered the paradoxical unfairness and glory of Robert's last year, and then came Cathy's second email. Dave was undergoing chemo, beating the cancer little by little. In a cruel card up fate's sleeve, a blood vessel burst in Dave's lung and he bled to death. This stirs up so many conflicting emotions - anger at the deceptive patience of cancer, frustration over the growing belief that it is a death sentence, and the regret over not having spent more time with Cathy and Dave. We had dinner a few times when they lived here and I had a standing invitation to go visit them in Indiana. I just never made it out there. He had a dry sense of humor and was brilliant, but cancer doesn't discriminate. He was stolen from us.

And so we arrive at the final effects of the layoff my company began two months ago. I remember saying to a superior right before it happened that I didn't care if I was on the list, but I hoped they didn't take any of my close friends. The word came, and again, bad news came via email. My friend Nattie wrote an email to our little group and wanted to see us right away. She had two months left with our company, a deferred layoff, and now those two months have expired. Whether we spent those last months the best way we could have is irrelevant; I said everything that was on my mind and we had weeks filled with lunches and breaks and hundreds of text messages. The change was out of our hands and we all dealt with it the best we could, but...well, I can't exactly say that it's all over because we'll always be in touch, but things will be different.

So we find each other from day to day, we meet people we have something in common with and work our schedules so we can see them again. We connect and on rare occasions we say the right things to the right people and then suddenly time sits still. We think that things will always be the same. Think about that for a second. The things you count on from day to day could be there tomorrow, everything you know...every place you go...the people around you...but that just doesn't mean that you can take any given moment for granted. In hindsight you wish you had more of those opportunities, another chance to say the right thing.

What's left, but the love we have for the people in our past? Isn't it better spent on the people who are around us now? Yeah, I forget sometimes the short attention span of the average person nowadays. Most go through these shocking moments of reality and then click on the next thing, but I suppose the fact that I'm sitting here writing about it might put me in the exclusive minority. Or maybe not. There are a lot of blogs out there.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
~Kahlil Gibran

The Razor's Edge

A completely blank canvas of a Saturday begins in reflection of past blogs, days spent in three worlds, and nothing but the future on my mind. Once again, the future is in the here and now. Before I do anything with myself for the day - for the weekend - I need to keep writing for my own salvation, proof that I walked this earth and met people along the way. The way to where is the real question.

I had two interviews this week at Warner Bros, two eye-opening and provocative experiences that really make me look hard at the definition I've worn for the past few years, and definitely the past five and a half months. Apparently, what I haven't exactly seen as clearly as others could is the fact that if you've attempted to put a title on me, it is still an underestimation. If you've attempted to define me, you still don't know the whole story. If you've needed me for one thing - and I'm talking business here - I am able to do six more things beyond that. I don't always see it because I'm modest and am always focused on helping people, but when I have to sit down and list my skills and then talk about them, I find myself wondering who that person is on the sheet.

And then the question comes: "Where do you see yourself in five years? In ten years?" I thought they were talking about what company, or a specific position, of which I only knew one thing; I wanted to work for Warner Bros for as long as they would have me. If I eventually become an independent, hired by them to make films, write TV shows, or someday even running the whole studio...well, then, all that is possible. The truth is, I've been building who I am for years and haven't followed a path. I'm on an artist's journey, and am constantly finding out about where I want to go. Is this safe, now that I'm turning 40? That ten year question puts me at 50, and it's difficult to think about my life at that point. Maybe I can answer this question better later on, but until then I need to write and fill my time away from work with the life, the pursuit of "Know thyself", which I picked up when I was about 15 and visiting the Oracle at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi, on the slopes of Mount Parnassus in Greece. Out of everything I did on that trip - I travelled throughout Italy, saw the Vatican, and stayed in a suite a few blocks away from the Acropolis - the Oracle held something special for me, an excursion I requested and oddly, when we got there, my parents and I were the only ones there. It was familiar, it was quiet, and shortly after that I started writing my journal. Know thyself. It's not a waste of time to explore that.

And so, I had a moment from my musical this morning, towards the end of the play, when I'm thinking about my past and following the advice that Andrea's character, Helen, gives to Jack: "Begin again." I pulled out my guitar, started playing songs I wrote, a few other songs I found chords to on the net, and then played the song from my musical that had me thinking about the people close to me, the people who own a very private piece of the best in me. I thought of calling someone new, someone I had been trying to reach for some time now but remains shrouded by clouds and trees, off in the distance. I called my friend Heather instead, and that is what I suppose this other person does, constantly returning to proven sources of love and understanding. Andrea, Heather, a handful of others...they're my foundation, and they will be there five years from now, ten years from now, when I am suddenly where I was headed all along.

It could be said that the best forms of advice come two words at a time. Know thyself. Begin again. Keep trying. When I can look back at a week or a single day and say, "that was a significant, important experience for me", then I know I'm putting the advice to good use.

There She Goes

I don't know why I was inspired to include this, but tonight I found myself playing a song I wrote for someone a few weeks before she moved away. In this weird time of perpetual, slow transition, I think about those times when I was very present...and I had to write about it.

There She Goes

I see my friend is leaving

Gone already, she is

For whatever I knew has left me

Already

But where do I go from here?

I stand here, mixed and conflicted,

Wondering what it is that I did

Or didn't do

I ask my ocean for forgiveness

And there it sits, rolling.

Because I stopped walking,

Mesmerized,Inspired,

Feeling a whole sky of emotion,

Feeling more of myself than ever,

And all the while becoming obsolete.

So here I stand, ripping inside,

Dropping memories to the sand,

And I let go,

Saying goodbye to my friend yet again,

And there she is.

I see my friend leaving

Gone already, she was

As I remember her when she loved me.

(but no more)

And my heart drains itself of all its love,

To paint the best picture of her I know

In this moment,

And there she goes.

SubNova

About fifteen years ago, maybe more, I was camping with a band of gypsies close to San Diego, just north of the Mexican border. Yes, you read that right, I was camping with a band of gypsies. My theater people at the time were an unusual bunch, and we went to the sanctioned event called the Baron's War, where people would use modified weapons - all padded swords, axes, and halberds - and stage mock battles in various scenarios. While the aggro warriors beat each other senseless, earning bruises and faking death, we gypsies were off in our own tent getting drunk and taking naps until night came. As soon as it got dark, three or four of the warriors girlfriends would come drink with us and they danced as we played our drums.

At some point in the late evening, I walked away from the big red tent and into a clearing to see the tent from afar and hear the absolute absence of city sounds. And then I looked up. Across the sky were more stars than I felt I could comprehend, an overwhelming feeling of insignificance beneath this complex and limitless canopy. I almost fell to my knees, it was so staggering, but I slowly started to breathe and take this in. The more my eyes focused, the more I started to get perplexed about the concentration of stars in the middle. It didn't seem real. A voice off to my right explained that this was the rest of the galaxy I was looking at. I couldn't see who it was, but that was a rare moment of clarity that definitely made me aware of the size of things. Me, my problems and struggles with daily life, my loves and losses, were all sitting on one invisible dot swirling around one mostly invisible point of light, in perspective. On this unique world, I place importance on the small things, and sometimes they take the focus from the big picture. I had the vision of the really big picture for one night only. One brief moment in time that I can't seem to forget.

Such is the girl whom I called my moon. Such is the friend who escaped L.A. by clicking her heels three times and moving back North. Such is the one major love of my life who checks in on me every couple of years from the uncomfortable seat of married life. They all appear and disappear, brief moments of exciting rediscovery and silent rejection that keep them up in the memory of my night sky. I say what I say to them with full knowledge that my honesty either means nothing to them or can be completely irrelevant, and will often be met by good intentions followed by silence.

That's where I pick myself up and keep moving. That's where I continue to encourage myself to keep believing. It's because that sky is still out there. That possibility of finding that connection with someone again is still there. Hope is still alive, and all this, the rejection, the disappearing acts, is really irrelevant in perspective. We are just sitting on one arm of our galaxy, and I am just one invisible dot on the map.