I write a lot about optimism, not to paint that picture of myself but more as an exercise to rememember a little perspective for the moment. That's why I blog; Clearly, the plays I write are purely hypothetical, subconsciously working through little demons. Poetry, of course, is all about celebrating what might be delusional, but I digress. Now, I'm going to confront the painfully realistic.
The year approaching my 40th has been amazing. So much baggage from the past has been taken off my hands, and I've been able to let go of a lot of things that weren't working for me any more. I reached the peak that I was climbing for years, ready to make a change. I directed a play that was proud of, I stood on Mayan ruins and stayed in a suite on a cruise ship, I drove a brand new convertible up the Florida coast to see the Space Shuttle launch, and best of all, years of having a job I didn't like ended in a dramatic bomb scare (the last time I saw my boss) and then a quiet morning after. Quite a year to remember.
The real surprising thing at this very moment, is that the overture has made a subtle shift to a minor key. What I'm also being told, in many ways and places, is that I'm too old and too late for an alarming number of things. Yes, it was expected when I began the intimidating task of changing careers and industries, but on a personal level, I am (and I'll admit this) reading reactions and comparisons that for the first time, feel like an outside negative opinion of my life at 40. I had my anxieties about it before and have always been fully aware of what people might think is normal for a life at this age, but I've lived simply and without regret for so many years, I entered this year with a "wait and see" attitude.
Again, I haven't had any regrets about my choices. Living a life doing theater with the waking moments away from an easy, well-paying job has been awesome, and I didn't waste a single day. My relationships - even the fleeting ones - fed me creatively and fueled my courage as I took a lot of chances in my artistic life. Even when I asked one of my closest friends at the end of my Playhouse chapter if I had anything else to prove, she described my record in those little theaters as "prolific". I have no illusions; They're small theaters in the middle of Los Angeles, but considering the history of the place, who taught there, and what the industry thinks of the school, I don't dismiss my experience there, either. So why, after spending my 20s working and having fun, and then spending my 30s living for live theater, would people see me as spent and unimportant? Am I really done with this life, never having gotten to the normal stuff everyone else has found? You can run the whole block of 30s and never look at 40, but as soon as you walk through the door of 40, you're staring straight at 50. Me. 50. Inconceivable.
I would say that the hardest part of this is that first impression people have, when you're immediately labelled and therefore some people will never know everything else there is about you. That would apply to anyone reaching this age. The hardest part of this is, in my case, painting yourself into a corner and having to sit there with your thoughts. I have nothing but space and time right now. Look around you. Are there familiar faces who need you, who keep a rhythm in your life and who will, at the lack of one breath, notice if you're not there? Lucky, lucky you. I made it a practice to isolate myself when building my creative life. I was alone as a director and writer, keeping the vision intact. I'm alone in my preparation as an actor. I often need to focus when I explore with or without photography, so I'm open to everything around me. I'm used to it. Now I'm here, writing this to put it all on the table so there is a record of where I am before the beginning or after the end, so my story is accurate and comes directly from the middle of the circle.
See, now is the time to listen, to not be afraid of the outcome. Now is the time to find the new direction - because there is one - and leave the expectations to others. Now has to be it, the only thing, because without hope in the now, there is nothing. So I smell defeat cooking on the minds of others. I see pity in the spaces between words. I hear indifference in silence. That's not my story.
I write because I'm still alive and haven't yet surrendered. I write because I'm not stuck and firmly believe that the unimaginable is still ahead of me. Just in case, though, I write to leave proof that I was here. Now it's time to listen. There is more....
Friday, November 30, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
You Are
This is one of those entries that has begun multiple times as I tried to wrestle with ideas and time. The brick wall I kept running into was actually just a very resiliant mirror, and I realized that I kept turning the self-realization screw tighter, making it harder to get to an answer outside of myself. The truth is, I don't plan the blog entries, even though I sometimes bookend thoughts and use devices that might hint otherwise. I actually start with a fuzzy idea, and try to answer a simple question with either something I haven't thought of yet or something I haven't listened to. I mean, what's the point of common sense if you discount it when it applies to your situation? Such as it is, I was wrong to look in the mirror on this one. It begins, simply, with a question.
Who are you?
No, not your name, and not your favorite color or who you're related to. I'm asking about who you are. Put yourself in the past tense, as if the moment when you stood up for yourself has already gone, and someone is retelling the way they remembered you. Are you, in fact, what you settle for, or are you what you aspire to be? Does any of it matter if you're not doing what you aspire to be? It's hard in this world to not wear a label, especially one that's not immediately read a certain way because of how you look or where you stand in a crowd. Forget for a second what even the closest people to you believe you should be, because they only know what you've told them. In the most private place of your heart, how do you want at least one person in the world to see you?
Let's face this much; There's a lot of competition out there to be whatever it is you're interested in. That applies to just about anything, be it careers or relationships. To choose one thing, or even two, you have to know that this is what makes you unique. The knowledge that you are exactly what follows the question "Who are you?" should at least begin to erase any concept of competition, right?
Or maybe...you don't know yet. It's okay. It's just me asking the question.
Some will say that the answer changes because one has to adjust themselves to different situations. Does that actually redefine who you are, though? Look, I understand the whole thing about different situations. This whole re-evaluation started forming clouds on the horizon when I was laid off. Despite my immediate optimism, I still wrestled with questions about why I was chosen and let go. Yes, they did me a favor, but still I wondered. It wasn't until I got to the outplacement program that I actually heard the question. They asked all of us to come up with a 30 second commercial, an answer to the question "Who are you?" for employers. I answered it a few times at the beginning of each class, and I had to remind myself that I wasn't defining myself completely. I was answering "What can you do for us?" and not the bigger question. Still, the seed was planted.
I've been thinking about it a lot. I've had nothing but time to think about it. The crazy thing is, for once in my life I haven't been too busy to pay attention to the things and people who would normally deflate and defeat me. Know what I found? It doesn't really matter how most people value me. I still try to see the best things in my world, and that, I think, answers the question in my own mind.
For the life that I've led and the things that I've done, the answer is mine to keep and believe in. Despite who I've had to be in different situations, I am still alone with my thoughts at the end of the day when my head rests on the pillow, and there, I know who I am.
Who are you?
No, not your name, and not your favorite color or who you're related to. I'm asking about who you are. Put yourself in the past tense, as if the moment when you stood up for yourself has already gone, and someone is retelling the way they remembered you. Are you, in fact, what you settle for, or are you what you aspire to be? Does any of it matter if you're not doing what you aspire to be? It's hard in this world to not wear a label, especially one that's not immediately read a certain way because of how you look or where you stand in a crowd. Forget for a second what even the closest people to you believe you should be, because they only know what you've told them. In the most private place of your heart, how do you want at least one person in the world to see you?
Let's face this much; There's a lot of competition out there to be whatever it is you're interested in. That applies to just about anything, be it careers or relationships. To choose one thing, or even two, you have to know that this is what makes you unique. The knowledge that you are exactly what follows the question "Who are you?" should at least begin to erase any concept of competition, right?
Or maybe...you don't know yet. It's okay. It's just me asking the question.
Some will say that the answer changes because one has to adjust themselves to different situations. Does that actually redefine who you are, though? Look, I understand the whole thing about different situations. This whole re-evaluation started forming clouds on the horizon when I was laid off. Despite my immediate optimism, I still wrestled with questions about why I was chosen and let go. Yes, they did me a favor, but still I wondered. It wasn't until I got to the outplacement program that I actually heard the question. They asked all of us to come up with a 30 second commercial, an answer to the question "Who are you?" for employers. I answered it a few times at the beginning of each class, and I had to remind myself that I wasn't defining myself completely. I was answering "What can you do for us?" and not the bigger question. Still, the seed was planted.
I've been thinking about it a lot. I've had nothing but time to think about it. The crazy thing is, for once in my life I haven't been too busy to pay attention to the things and people who would normally deflate and defeat me. Know what I found? It doesn't really matter how most people value me. I still try to see the best things in my world, and that, I think, answers the question in my own mind.
For the life that I've led and the things that I've done, the answer is mine to keep and believe in. Despite who I've had to be in different situations, I am still alone with my thoughts at the end of the day when my head rests on the pillow, and there, I know who I am.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Indeed well. Sincerely.
Getting out of the house last weekend, I went up to CityWalk (immediately wondering what I was doing up there), and I saw all the noise, heard the bigness of the place. I walked in my own jetstream, disillusioned and strange, and I didn't recognize the place. Was it fun to visit once upon a time? Did it have a magic to it, like some of the other places I can't get around to revisiting? I distinctly remember thinking how lucky I was to have Universal Studios and Citywalk practically in my backyard. Maybe I was naive, holding on to a first impression the same way I remembered Hawaiian sunsets from my youth, the Vatican, family vacations, and a certain pair of brown eyes I fell into and never emerged from. Can you blame me? We hold on to our very first impression of something, but to see them with older eyes makes it hard to reconcile. Especially now.
Sometimes, unfortunately, the last impression is the thing we hold on to and hope to forget. We leave the experience behind us, and whether its solved or not, every now and then you cross paths with your past and even with perspective, it's an uncomfortable reminder of something wrong you have no power over. I've been really lucky this year to have had some huge mysteries of my life solved, but in the past few weeks, a reminder of a particularly helpless moment reappeared. Yep, while it might seem like I have it all together right now and optimism is the soundtrack of my life, I am still seen by some people in my past as strange and troublesome. Any simple conversation - even by email - is full of obvious politeness, an annoying attempt at walking on eggshells. I can see the look on this person's face again, as if she's talking to a mental patient, trying to play things safe to not arouse any uncontrollable emotions or reactions. It's crazy how obvious the behavior is, even now.
Flash back to many years ago, when at the end of a long, strange friendship, things blew up between one friend and I. One simple act on my part, nowhere near the level of rudeness I was on the receiving end of for years, caused the person to write me off completely, despite my efforts to reconcile and even accept much of the blame. I was in pain, felt misunderstood and alone, and in one group of friends, everything I did was highlighted as insane and wrong. And so it was, when I was able to spend time with these friends without the influence of this other person, they treated me with the same behavior I recently read: polite, detached words, non-committal and backtracking from the first syllable. It's kind of disgusting, and still a little embarrassing, but nowhere near as effective as it used to be. I have had two experiences in my life where I was in pain and the people closest to me abandoned and shunned me. Thanks to them, thanks to the people who never listened or gave me a second chance, I've become strong and independent, quiet about what's going on inside. I know better now. You have friends, and then you have the friends who are connected to you, heart to heart. In that respect, I'm so unbelievably lucky.
I have two people I can always call, and I stay in touch constantly. I have two more who will always help, and I'm spending Thanksgiving with them. I have a family who works hard at maintaining contact, at listening to nuances in my voice and would drop everything if they felt I needed them. So what do you think? Do I set myself apart from the world as the tainted, problematic person some people once saw me as? No. They gave up on me. Whether they gave up on me before we broke off contact or they simply cut me off without any explanation, it's the same exact unapproachable void. On my own shore of this sea of nothingness, I can look back and rather than attach blame, I can simply remember that I offered love, was rejected, and with time I learned to give that love to others. That is the last impression I want to hold on to, hopefully with a little wisdom and pride intact.
Can you blame me for relying on good memories to propel me forward? As much as I am able to remember the ugly moments, and am reminded even when I choose not to, nothing I tell you will replace listening to Space Oddity with the sunroof open on a starry night, or an amazingly heartfelt hug on a Halloween day at work. Nothing will desaturate the warm colors of a musical coming to life on stage, and the best parts of the story lending themselves to real life. While I have suffered, I have done so honestly and expressed the same in simple words, but that has emptied my heart to make room for greater things to fill it. All this awkward maneuvering that I see, to serve purposes that in the end have little to do with me, will just have to remain beyond the ability for these older eyes to reconcile.
I have everything I need, especially now.
Sometimes, unfortunately, the last impression is the thing we hold on to and hope to forget. We leave the experience behind us, and whether its solved or not, every now and then you cross paths with your past and even with perspective, it's an uncomfortable reminder of something wrong you have no power over. I've been really lucky this year to have had some huge mysteries of my life solved, but in the past few weeks, a reminder of a particularly helpless moment reappeared. Yep, while it might seem like I have it all together right now and optimism is the soundtrack of my life, I am still seen by some people in my past as strange and troublesome. Any simple conversation - even by email - is full of obvious politeness, an annoying attempt at walking on eggshells. I can see the look on this person's face again, as if she's talking to a mental patient, trying to play things safe to not arouse any uncontrollable emotions or reactions. It's crazy how obvious the behavior is, even now.
Flash back to many years ago, when at the end of a long, strange friendship, things blew up between one friend and I. One simple act on my part, nowhere near the level of rudeness I was on the receiving end of for years, caused the person to write me off completely, despite my efforts to reconcile and even accept much of the blame. I was in pain, felt misunderstood and alone, and in one group of friends, everything I did was highlighted as insane and wrong. And so it was, when I was able to spend time with these friends without the influence of this other person, they treated me with the same behavior I recently read: polite, detached words, non-committal and backtracking from the first syllable. It's kind of disgusting, and still a little embarrassing, but nowhere near as effective as it used to be. I have had two experiences in my life where I was in pain and the people closest to me abandoned and shunned me. Thanks to them, thanks to the people who never listened or gave me a second chance, I've become strong and independent, quiet about what's going on inside. I know better now. You have friends, and then you have the friends who are connected to you, heart to heart. In that respect, I'm so unbelievably lucky.
I have two people I can always call, and I stay in touch constantly. I have two more who will always help, and I'm spending Thanksgiving with them. I have a family who works hard at maintaining contact, at listening to nuances in my voice and would drop everything if they felt I needed them. So what do you think? Do I set myself apart from the world as the tainted, problematic person some people once saw me as? No. They gave up on me. Whether they gave up on me before we broke off contact or they simply cut me off without any explanation, it's the same exact unapproachable void. On my own shore of this sea of nothingness, I can look back and rather than attach blame, I can simply remember that I offered love, was rejected, and with time I learned to give that love to others. That is the last impression I want to hold on to, hopefully with a little wisdom and pride intact.
Can you blame me for relying on good memories to propel me forward? As much as I am able to remember the ugly moments, and am reminded even when I choose not to, nothing I tell you will replace listening to Space Oddity with the sunroof open on a starry night, or an amazingly heartfelt hug on a Halloween day at work. Nothing will desaturate the warm colors of a musical coming to life on stage, and the best parts of the story lending themselves to real life. While I have suffered, I have done so honestly and expressed the same in simple words, but that has emptied my heart to make room for greater things to fill it. All this awkward maneuvering that I see, to serve purposes that in the end have little to do with me, will just have to remain beyond the ability for these older eyes to reconcile.
I have everything I need, especially now.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Natural Selection
I once wrote, in the tagline of a play I never finished, "What is the difference between revolution and evolution? The direction of the movement." It was a story about a war of ideas and beliefs, about confusion and loss, about being remembered the way we want to be remembered and not leaving that definition up to anyone else. It was a war, not a struggle, of one man against the world, then the world against ideas, and then the man became just another form of the ideas he was against in the first place. The main problem, of course, lies in the fact that truth, a sense of order, of right and wrong, is subjective, and contrasting ideas are not often discussed because...well, as we're prone to think, "Would anything I say make a difference?" I'd like to be the first one in this hour to tell you that yes, everything you say makes a difference.
If you've read all 64 blog entries before this (and...damn...if you have...wow), you would know that I'm constantly soul searching, asking the questions that I can wrestle with and leaving the other little mysteries alone until I can find relevance (like why I hadn't been able to get the song "More than a Feeling" out of my mind). Being out of work has risen this to a whole different level, because people have confirmed certain things about me, and I have to believe that I have those qualities going for me. My resume looks great. My outplacement program has involved all of us without work in a bunch of exercises to help us sell the best things about ourselves. I don't know where anyone else is in their lives, but I've had this...this habit of journal/blog writing...for 22 years now. Over that time I have fought my demons. I've believed the worst things about myself. I've even accepted defining places like my former job for years at a time, because it was just easier to stay in one place.
Do you know what feels more right than believing the worst? Love. Listen, you can call me out for being more of a dreamer than a realist, but I, too, can see that something is exactly what it seems to be. I can empathize with a bad situation or acknowledge a dead end when I see one. I have tried, and failed, and tried again, and found success. I have been rejected and then missed, completely alone, yet at one with the entire world in front of me. What gives me this kind of annoying optimism is the fact that I crave love, am addicted to it, so that is what I try to project. I will never say that I'm not worthy of it, because I have so much.
So we all have choices, as I keep repeating in my entries to remind myself, more than anything. I could try to understand the past, or worse yet, try to fix it, but at this beautifully even-numbered age of 40, I'm a little more occupied with the future.
This is my transition between revolution and evolution.
If you've read all 64 blog entries before this (and...damn...if you have...wow), you would know that I'm constantly soul searching, asking the questions that I can wrestle with and leaving the other little mysteries alone until I can find relevance (like why I hadn't been able to get the song "More than a Feeling" out of my mind). Being out of work has risen this to a whole different level, because people have confirmed certain things about me, and I have to believe that I have those qualities going for me. My resume looks great. My outplacement program has involved all of us without work in a bunch of exercises to help us sell the best things about ourselves. I don't know where anyone else is in their lives, but I've had this...this habit of journal/blog writing...for 22 years now. Over that time I have fought my demons. I've believed the worst things about myself. I've even accepted defining places like my former job for years at a time, because it was just easier to stay in one place.
Do you know what feels more right than believing the worst? Love. Listen, you can call me out for being more of a dreamer than a realist, but I, too, can see that something is exactly what it seems to be. I can empathize with a bad situation or acknowledge a dead end when I see one. I have tried, and failed, and tried again, and found success. I have been rejected and then missed, completely alone, yet at one with the entire world in front of me. What gives me this kind of annoying optimism is the fact that I crave love, am addicted to it, so that is what I try to project. I will never say that I'm not worthy of it, because I have so much.
So we all have choices, as I keep repeating in my entries to remind myself, more than anything. I could try to understand the past, or worse yet, try to fix it, but at this beautifully even-numbered age of 40, I'm a little more occupied with the future.
This is my transition between revolution and evolution.
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