Fermata

Music has been omnipresent in my adult life, the soundtrack flowing and swelling behind important moments, whether they were shared with someone or just felt through my own perspective. I have spent decades telling you how I feel in words, and hopefully my writing has gotten better; I try to be as concise and descriptive as possible, encouraging every distraction and non sequitur. I sincerely hope that the things I write have given you the texture and tone that I have been accused of in the past. On one hand, the girl down the hall in the mid-2000's said it was too raw and overwhelming, but on the other, as a playwright I was once compared to Tennessee Williams. 

As cathartic and inconvenient as writing is for me, there is a finality to it, an emptying of the mind. I should be sleeping now, especially on the eve of what should have been a gratitude themed entry into this parade of syllables. Music on the other hand, becomes marinated with the exact feelings I had the moment I heard the song, or paid particular attention to it. What I'm about to do is take you through a few decades of moments, reliving them myself as I describe where and when the song had the impact on me. The song comes first, so you can press play, and then read the section that follows it. 

I don't know why this suddenly became a top priority for me as I was about to get in bed. I know what inspired it, and I was going to do it another day. No, I'm feeling the pull and I know I won't be able to get to sleep until I do this. 

At the beginning of my senior year in high school, I was in the habit of having vivid dreams every night, and one in particular stood out, because the details were so specific and immersive. Towards the end of the dream, a song played over what I can only assume would have been credits rolling over the scene, and I woke to that song playing on my clock radio. It stuck with me so much that I told friends about it, and a year later, every detail of that dream came true when I took my first love to the Prom, complete with the song, playing from a limo as we were walking out of the Bonaventure in downtown LA. That song was Borderline, by Madonna, and that last section of the song still has me reaching for the girl's hand. 

As a first love it was doomed to fail, of course, because I was COMPLETELY unprepared for the feelings and how it was going to affect me. I learned how to draw her from memory and wrote over a hundred songs about her, one of which I played for her on piano. She was actually the reason I started writing a journal, and I can still remember how erratic and physically heavy my writing was back then. Looking back, of course I was smitten. She was a beauty pageant winner, Miss Studio City, and the perfect girl next door. I just didn't know who I was at the time. My various mixtapes that I listened to can be perfectly encapsulated with Chicago's Hard Habit to Break. So cheesy.

I still remember the first night I sat with my first serious girlfriend. We knew each other from our college theater department, and she had worked with wardrobe for a few plays that I was in. We had flirted a little bit, but late one night, we walked out together to my car, and I opened the sunroof so we could stare at the stars. Our hands played together, just feeling how they fit together, and while this song played, we had our first kiss. It was one of the most perfect moments I've ever experienced. Space Oddity by David Bowie will forever be that first kiss. 

The absolute tragedy of that relationship was that as much as we were drawn together - magnetic doesn't even begin to describe how much we needed each other - she was determined to run away from it. It was intense and destructive, all consuming, and when it ended it was bad. It was really bad. And I needed to make that ending final, for my own health and sanity. I hadn't cried or tortured myself that much before or since, so despite her reaching out every few months, I did the hardest thing I could ever do. Deny her. It was an abusive relationship. I thought about her for years, and, well, you actually know the rest of the story. She got married, reached out when she was getting divorced, and when we saw each other again, the chemistry was completely gone. Scandalous, though, captures the way we were drawn to suffer for each other. I know she still remembers it that way, too. 

I had discovered a pen pal online in some poetry message boards shortly after, and getting messages and phone calls from her really pulled me out of the deep depression I was in. She became a best friend online, and after a few years, I decided to visit her in Sarasota for my birthday. Something about our chemistry in person lit up the creative side of me, and at the time I was obsessed with An American in Paris, specifically the dream sequence. That's what this girl did for me, and in hindsight, the magic was really there for fleeting moments only. The distance made it work. It was confirmed in a second visit to her city a year later, and even more so when she moved to LA. We were very different people. We became very close friends over the years, but this song captures the moment we sat on a beach late at night on a Sarasota shore, with the world a blank slate for us to create on. 

One of the pinnacles of my time as a theater director was a play called Three Years From Thirty, where I had to wrangle a group of six actors in a small space at a crucial time in their lives. It was big for all of us; We were experiencing change and growth at a time around our 30s, and I took some risks directing the actors differently and guiding them carefully through the whole process, because this play meant something very personal to me. God, I remember how we all pulled together and felt this play, but it got real when on the last night, I told the actors that it was no longer a play. A play means you can innocently try thing and you'll get a do-over. This was the last time we were doing it together, after so many late night rehearsals and discussions about the story. Tonight it was going to be real life, and whatever happens, happens. I was no longer their director for this last show. I watched each of them have a significant final moment, an exit from the story, and at the end of the play, when one of the characters finally comes full circle and looks for redemption, but is instead rejected and has to leave. As this moment really sinks in for her, this song begins to play, and I still remember taking two quick breaths as my emotion got the best of me on this last night. I told her, after all, that she was essentially Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz in this play, but she couldn't come home. Jane Monheit nailed this recording in one take. 

One of the deepest and most forbidden relationships I ever had was - and I hope you notice that I'm not using names, because lately I don't feel they have any place in the story - with the girl down the hall at work who inspired plays and poetry, and really took this journal up a notch in creativity. She was the girl whom I wrote about on the moon, and eventually professed a postdated love for me with no solution. I admired her brilliant mind and strength, her goofy sense of humor, and the eloquent, well-spoken way she could engage with me about what was going on between us. A few other people in the office got in the middle and tried to tell her I wasn't worth the time, but we still felt the connection regardless. It ended up being too much for her and she moved back to San Francisco, and this was one of the songs that helped me put things in perspective, with an understanding that ended up being incorrect. 

The time came for my final play, and after so many productions and over a decade of work in the theater, I was going to walk away from directing. The play was The Shape of Things, and I really put myself into every detail of this play, directing the actors throughout LA and creating every prop down to the smallest detail myself. I was literally wringing the creative towel to get the last drops out, and part of me knew that once I left, my legacy would begin to fade. I was the central person in this theater company, and once I stopped showing up, people would stop caring. I did continue acting in a play for another five years or so, but that out of sight, out of mind sense of relevance was behind me picking this song to end the play and my time in that theater. 

The first death that affected me profoundly came three or four years after the fact; I was running a social media platform for the actors at the school, keeping it going for a while after I had left, and received a message from the mother of a girl I knew. She wanted to know if anyone there knew her. Out of all of the people there, I probably knew her the best. She was a troubled, lost, beautiful soul from a broken home, and for a few years, I was her safe place. She would come over to my place, tell me stories about the things she was going through, even spent the night a few times. It still numbs me with guilt to say that it got to be too much for me to handle, and I think she sensed that, and after I dropped her off at the airport one last time, I never saw her again. She committed suicide back in 2008, and there I was, years later, not knowing how to grieve her. I wrote out a conversation with her here in the blog to help bridge the gap. For some strange reason, this song kept calling to me and I didn't understand why until one night I was driving home from work and I heard her voice speaking some of the lyrics, and I had to pause at the freeway offramp, sobbing because the truth of it hit me. My inability to let this go, to let her death go, was preventing both of us from moving on. I could feel her love me from beyond, and I had to forgive myself for us parting ways. I had one chance to tell Sara Bareilles in person what that song did for me, but just missed it. Someday. 

At the beginning of 2016, my cat became very sick and took her to a vet who said that the only thing I could do was just wait for her to die naturally. For a few torturous months, I watched over her and rushed home every day from work to feed her and spend time with her. On the final day with her, the only time she became calm was when I played Blackbird for her on the guitar. I had her for 18 years. I still haven't gotten over it. 

I had visions of me playing this song on guitar and singing it in a church at my father's funeral, but the church and funeral never really happened. I never anticipated we would have him cremated, and to be honest, I never could have gotten through playing it. It was one of my father's favorite songs, and ironically it's about a man who's dying and saying goodbye to his friends. We put the song's title on the plaque where his urn rests. 

One of the most important relationships of my life ended in early 2018, changing my life in a sudden burst of evolved thought and values. For six years, it was everything I wanted to work for as an adult, a relationship with a deep foundation and understanding, despite the fact that when you really look at the math, we weren't compatible. I have never loved someone the way I loved this girl, and never worked so hard to know another person as completely, while ignoring all of the parts where I fit in. There were so many moments where I looked at her and told myself that I didn't care how she felt, that to me she was my only significant other, and I would run to the end of time as her best friend if nothing else. But again, that small distance between us had no bridge, no way to reach the other side, and no way for me to evolve, so it ended. I do remember a moment, though, when there was potentially a pregnancy in her family, and we met for dinner and talked through it. I, of course, bought books for her on Amazon as if it was going to be her child, and told her that if this pregnancy was going to happen, we would all figure it out together. I knew at that moment I was really committed to doing more, being more, in a way I had never felt before, and on the way home I played this song for her on my car stereo. It was kind of a joke that I would put something like this on, and after catching what I did she laughed, but the song captures that whole hearted love I had for her back then. After two years we're back in touch, but I'm talking to a new version of her, and I'm sure I'm different too. There's a different love for my old friend in place now, but god, I miss some of those moments we had. She is the reason I picked this journal up again.

When my mother passed away, I listened to podcasts because I was already feeling dizzy and disoriented, and just needed to hear people talk. When I realized that I hadn't allowed myself the emotion I was holding back, I listened to this song. I had spent days getting old photos reprinted, and distracted myself from the weight inside me, I had forgotten to let myself feel all of it. This song was medicinal in that respect, and it cut through all of the logic and purpose I attempted to use to get through the week. I don't know why I picked it. 

As the world shut down and I found myself dealing with an uncertain future and a past that I had to consider, I turned to Glen Hansard the way I've turned to his music many times in my adult life. He writes and sings with a gravitas that tells me that whatever I'm feeling, he's been through. I think of all of the things I've experienced...all of the loved ones I've lost...all of the times when love was either the right tool for the wrong problem or the out of place instrument in the wrong band...that there's a reason why I've gone through all of this and still have a road ahead of me. That this life, with many bold chapters, has stories yet to be told and overtures still left to be played, underscoring important moments and people. That patience, and trust, and hope, will see it all fit together someday. 

I'm so grateful for my life, and how many people I've crossed paths with, and the family members who are still here. I'm proud of these emotions, and creative impulses, and this safe place here to write and give meaning to it all. 

Now that I've spilled all of that from my head, I can finally go to sleep. 

The King of Ephyra

Forgiveness is impossible to define. It is one of those things that changes weight and purpose depending on your point of view. I bet you I can come up with ten things it is, because as you know, I like lists. 

I was actually going to write a story about a murder mystery, like Clue or Knives Out ("nobody can leave this house until we figure this crime out"), featuring people whom are attached to some sort of forgiveness on my part, but not only would I have to include myself in that room, I’d have to revisit a lot of stuff. Still a fun thought. Maybe I can pull these characters into a mansion for Thanksgiving, since I’ll have some time on my hands. For now, let’s take a simpler route. 

Here are ten things forgiveness can be:

1. Some people think it’s a magic eraser that absolves everything.
2. It’s a bridge to just get past the current ugliness. 
3. A pacifying act to check someone off, withholding the knowledge that they’re still an asshole
4. A reprieve from punishment for an error or incompatible state of being
5. A recognition of people having different and sometimes offsetting values 
6. An understanding that we are imperfect creatures not meant to fit together perfectly 100% of the time
7. An earnest contract to try to accept human error and misunderstanding
8. A relief from the burden of resentment
9. A genuine act of getting past anger or hurt
10. Accepting a lesson about imperfection 

I honestly didn’t think I’d get to ten, especially considering the thought earlier today that the only profound thing I thought I’d be able to write about was the fact that I had pumpkin spice cereal this morning. Also, I think it's fair to also point out that TikTok kept me up late last night, so here we are, somehow. Sometimes I want to write something profound and all that comes out is I love bacon and I love chocolate, but I hate them together. Sometimes I want to comment on the shade of blue in the sky and I end up dissecting a decade of my life through a gut wrenching essay that leaves me in tears. 

I think I'm writing about this particular topic because I'm at a place in my life where I think I'm figuring out that if forgiveness hasn't been closed out like a budget, it's just a window to revisiting some terrible moments or feelings. It's literally a time machine, and I remember what it felt like. I hated that shiver, the burn, the welling up of emotion behind the eyes. I'm familiar with the cautious approach, the calculations to avoid any pitfalls. I wished in the moment why I didn't have an off switch, a regulator, some magic pill for not feeling that way in the moment, even being angry with myself for revisiting it, like touching a wound. I wanted forgiveness in my heart, and thought I'd find a way that was obvious to me. 

I don't know how I found it or exercised it; It's almost as if I was constantly living with the threat of being hurt, of not having any trust, and then values changed. I know I was tested when, during the Spring and Summer of 2018, a parade of former relationships reappeared and tested my brain and heart, at a time I just wanted to be disconnected, independent and free. I was happy! Why did the first one have to be the most entertaining? Why did I find it entertaining? For a girl whom I loved deeply when I was much younger, we had already resolved issues years ago via social media (and not a conversation in person), so the return was oddly timed because the subject of me was absolutely taboo in her marriage. She was set to be divorced in a month. 

Divorced! In a month! A younger version of me would have jumped on that because I remember missing everything about her. Now, I just wanted to catch up and hear her stories, learn about her daughters, find out who she was. She had other plans. Long story short (has that phrase ever been used correctly?), she had a guy in San Diego, a guy in her city, a guy in another city, but nobody in LA. I think I remember that correctly. It was multiple guys, and nope nope nope. I declined and she wasn't happy about it. Conversation was strained, maybe desaturated right after that, then out of nowhere she wanted to meet to catch up. To say that she was guarded to the point of being almost completely unapproachable would only begin to describe the night. Conversations ended after that night, and she ended up marrying the guy in her town. 

I got to watch this whole thing unfold, and almost immediately after the angry text conversation, the second girl from my past popped up, which helped put some perspective on the first, which was arguably one of the most important relationships of my life, and the hardest to recover from. The second girl gave me the most loving distraction, a conversation I didn't expect but absolutely needed. I think that one healed me more than anything else, because she put our relationship in context and, though there was no promise of anything for the future, it explained the abrupt escape back home to San Francisco, what followed that, and what happened since. She made me feel amazing in ONE conversation, and resolved everything I thought I did wrong in the relationship. God, the act of sharing that loving moment over the phone was one of the most romantic things that ever happened to me, even though it was fleeting. She cut straight to the middle of it and fixed all of the misconceptions of the time we were together. 

The ones that followed each had their effects, but these first two taught me a lot about time, and forgiveness, and self-worth. I learned enough to test and carry some thoughts and feelings through the next few years, and it occurred to me this week because...

Why did I think of this topic today? Was it a song I heard? Was it a memory? Was I thinking about how much I'm sitting in the moment and only thinking about the future? (Maybe it's the daily affirmations I have popping up as tasks on my phone.) Why was forgiveness the thought that was rolling around my head? 

At night, when I go to bed, I lay in the darkness and the miscellaneous unresolved feelings and thoughts of the day, month, or year talk to me. They tease my feelings, push my buttons, and if I don't have music on as I sleep, my brain is a mosh pit. For a couple of years now, I've been able to sleep soundly through the night, with a clean slate of colors and textures dancing like a borealis to the music. 

For me, forgiveness was an exercise in understanding my own flaws and misunderstandings, of being able to let go and pivot, and find my own way. It helped me let go of old grudges and fears and taught me how to spend patience frugally. It doesn't feel zen-like, because I know I'll make mistakes in the future, and this is something I’ll have to keep practicing. The stories from yesterday have been told as far as I'm concerned, though, the budgets are closed and the books have been put away. Can things be redefined? Of course, but I would need a little help with that. 

It’s time to turn out the lights, and dream of things not anchored to the past. 

Wonderwall

During today's workout, which I stumbled into accidentally going harder than expected (psyched myself out!), our trainer said something that I'm sure has been said before, but it struck me this time. Maybe as a result of being out of breath after windmilling my way through part one of my workout, I was weak and susceptible to suggestion. I was still distracted sorting through the quote, which she, no doubt, just tossed out there to match with the lyrics of the song we were working to. 

"There are only three people who are responsible for your happiness. That's me, myself, and I." ~ Leanne Pedante

I am positive this is not something she carefully crafted that morning in her bathroom, listening to De La Soul's Me, Myself and I. She just tossed it out there because all of the trainers there try to connect what you're doing to the song. 

I put the dissection of that quote on the back burner as I continued to work out for another 30 minutes. I have a habit of doing two things at once, just to keep my brain from distracting. I distinctly remember a very long time ago, I was reading something that a friend's sister gave me to look at, and as I was reading my friend started laughing at me, that side conversation stopping somewhere outside of my attention. I was mindlessly spinning a pillow on my off hand while I was completely focused on reading, not even realizing I was doing it. Ever since then, he'd play a game of handing me something while I was focused on something else, and I'd swallow that action into my gravity. 

To the dissection of Me, Myself, and I, you would think that they are three descriptions of the same thing, but my crazy synesthesia-fed brain separated the three, knowing that those concepts were different textures, different shapes and colors. They're three descriptions of myself from different places, and I needed to know that it doesn't come down to a selfish thought that my opinions alone matter. Understanding the spectrum of who I am to people (me), what I've been able to do alone (myself), and how much I value myself (I), I have to check that off and know that I've earned whatever scraps of happiness I've been able to find, especially this year. 

This crazy ass year. I thought that 2016 was the depth of suck. 2017 barely recovered. 2018 and 2019 were comeback years. And here we are. But hold on. 

The key to my happiness isn't as complicated as the law offices of "Me, Myself, and I." Fun exercise, sure, and funny how my brain tried to make sense of the cyclical reference. The thought doesn't address the search for happiness, though, the hope to find completion. I mean, it's a great song, but the real shit is that attempt to fill in something that's missing: 

If I only had _______ I'd feel complete. 

I'd be happy if not for ________. 

I would be ecstatic if I had a _________ right in front of me. 

That last one was just a placeholder for a slice of cheesecake. Craving right now, and I don't know why. 

These are great arguments to have with myself, even if they're never articulated, but they exist without actual solutions. So many times I've gotten the thing, but still wasn't happy or satisfied. There was always the euphoria of "getting" but never the sense of "having." Sometimes the plateau of getting there came with a lot of restrictions and conditions, things that gave you the taste of the thing you wanted, but never actually the real thing. It became the itch you couldn't scratch, the salt shake away from the flavor you were looking for (or is it pepper? Cinnamon?), that thing you bought on Wish but didn't quite measure up when it arrived in the mail. Okay, I guess the $5 price tag should have been a warning. 

Playing with these thoughts on the back burner of my mind for the better part of a whole day, I finally had my epiphany late at night.  

I don't know if you've ever been on a long hike, but when you're on a trail and you look ahead to a place you'd like to reach for want of the view, you walk, you overcome obstacles, and eventually you get there, only to see the next peak. The view is great, but that next peak looks like it has potential. So you walk and navigate more. You get to the next peak; You see the one after that. It doesn't matter if you get to the highest peak in the world, I guarantee that if you've put any importance and appreciation on the journey you'll see the next place you want to go. 

(This is obviously going to be in the book I'm writing, I'm just realizing.)

All of these years that I caught myself being attracted to whatever the answer to that riddle was, I didn't pick up on the major clue buried in the times when I had to be resourceful in the wake of rejection, or defeat, or a failure. I was always swimming in emotion - even if only for a moment - promising myself that I would allow myself to feel it and not bury anything to deal with later. I felt what I needed to, and then I worked through it, and essentially I came home every time. 

The truth at the bottom of this is that the best, most supportive and fulfilling relationship I have always had, has been with myself. I have figured out a hundred ways of picking myself up, rewarding myself, encouraging my own creative expression, and allowing space to take risks. I'm not only responsible for my own happiness, I'm also responsible for my own sadness; It's not a squared window I get to see things through, it's an ownership of the whole thing. I am, as Emma Watson put it, happily self-partnered, because I have picked myself up and mended more wounds than anyone else. I have, especially in the long history of this journal - started in the 80s and returning during this pause in the world - loved myself harder in a spirit of forgiveness than I've often felt that I've deserved. It is, after all, the journey, the path, the sights along the way that I alone am fully witness to, so I'm giving myself credit. 

I began this pandemic/quarantine/apocalypse with the challenge to myself that I would prepare like a traveler on a long solo journey. Not only would it need a strict daily routine, it would also require some self-reflection and honesty, and maybe a little indulgence. I expect someday I'll go back to writing about the new adventures of me, but for now the getting reacquainted part is cathartic. Us Libras love finding chaos and bringing order and balance to it, or just stepping back and appreciating it from a distance, with a cup of coffee and...

I'm going to celebrate the moment with some cheesecake. See you on the next random thought. 

Bicameralism Camera

Distracted for a hot second, my mind a million miles away, I look around this coffee place in my mind for some inspiration, maybe a memory of what it actually feels like to be inside a restaurant. Every table has their own occupant with a laptop, staring into space. Some are fancy birds photographing their latte & cupcake combo, others are high strung rodents nibbling and typing furiously. An elephant sits nearby quietly savoring some tea.

I didn't even see her sit in front of me, but there she was, staring at me. 

C: So I see how it is. You sit on your pedestal, get busy with life, and even after you realize that you blinked and suddenly you’re riding directly into the apocalypse, you wait almost a year and then reach out?

S: You were always my escape when I could afford one, so no, I haven't forgotten you. Neglected, maybe, but not forgotten. 

C: I was always watching. 

S: I know. I think I just wanted to try to figure it all out on my own. You know, that's how adulthood is supposed to work, isn't it? But here we are.

C: It's either this or therapy. Sometimes both are good. What are you drinking? I'm going to get what you're having. 

S: The usual - dirty chai. 

She gets up and goes to the counter. Why, in this completely imagined existence, she felt it necessary to go through the steps instead of just blinking it into existence like Bewitched is a mystery. The flock is still here, the elephant busy tapping away at a cell phone. I think she can feel me staring. Am I staring? I shake my head and take a moment to remember the smell of a place like this, the rustic, quirky furniture and indie soundtrack floating somewhere in the distance. A sip of my chai and I'm back to center. She sits down. 

C: I brought us some cookies. 

S: There are times I hate it when you read my mind - because you're in there - but this is not one of those times. (pause) How old was I when we first talked? 

C: It's been a really long time. Feels like you were just a kid.  

S: it sometimes still feels like I’m just a kid. The world just has more gravity now. 

C: From what I can see you're not carrying any rocks or dragging anything heavy. So what's weighing you down? 

S: I don't know. I think I've been through a lot in a year and the future is uncertain, so I'm trying to find a source of light, something in the darkness. 

C: Yeah, that's probably true of everyone right now. 

S: I used to have milestones, targets that were solidly a few months out, and a foundation to build them on. I remember a time before that when I was able to balance all of that and a life away from it, too. 

C: And then that didn't make sense any more. I remember when you made that change. (laughs) Balance, not making sense to a Libra. 

S: We don't actually strive for balance, though. That's not what we do. At least, those of us born at 7:30pm on the 5th of October. We look for unbalanced things so we can bring them back to center. 

C: So where are you now? 

S: Balanced. With nothing on the scales. Don't get me wrong - it's a great zen place to be. That muscle I used to use to second guess myself has atrophied. Meditation isn't a hot mess these days. 

C: I guess I don't have to ask how the job search is going. 

S: Do you know that saying "Give me a place to stand and I will move the world"?

C: Yeah.

S: So far, what I've seen is more along the lines of "Give me a place to stand and I'll just hand stuff off to the next guy. And together we'll be just fine." That's a job. I need a crack in the door somewhere that I can change. (pause) I'll keep searching...it's such a part of the daily routine that I know I'll trip over something soon. I think I searched for five or six months before I found my last gig. 

C: But how are you? Don't answer me right away, take a moment. Look, umm, I know these are weird times. I hate the word everyone's using...unprecedented. But things suck right now, and I know that you have a basket of masks by your door and your neighbors across the street love throwing super spreader parties every couple of months or so. (pause) I know you won't be able to go home for the holidays, and Thanksgiving this year is going to be just another Thursday. So take a moment and think about it. How are you? 

I stop and take a sip. I've been nibbling on the cookie this whole time but take a bigger bite while I look around. Both she and I notice that the elephant has been watching us, but has finished her tea and cake and has grabbed her keys on her way out. 

What kind of car does an elephant drive? And where is she going? 

I look back at my friend, enjoying the combination of cookie and chai. It is a perfect combination. I don't think you'd find any argument about that with anyone, but if they disagreed I'd be more than happy to tell them they're wrong. They're probably wrong about a lot of things, based on that. 

S: When my father was about to retire, he had a lot of plans. Oh man, he wanted to sculpt, he wanted to paint. He described in detail all of the things he wanted to do, and sure, when he finally retired he got busy fixing things around the house but he never indulged in those creative projects. He just...slowed down. (pause) I don't think any of us were built to work just so we could have a life of leisure. 

C: You're not your dad. (pause) You know that, right? You have a lot of his qualities, but you're not him. (pause) He chased down and won over his childhood sweetheart, and immediately they started their family. That's what they wanted. He had three kids and by your age he was still committed to supporting all three of you. 

S: I don't worry about our lives having the same pattern, but I understand much of how he felt about things. And I understand my mom that way, too. 

C: She didn't stop working until she was physically unable to, remember that? 

S: Yeah. That crazy lady and her gardening. Her sewing. She never took shortcuts when it came to cooking, either. 

C: And let me remind you that your dad worked on things that were urgent, regardless of how big the project was. 

S: So maybe I miss their example right now. Maybe I miss the phone calls, the video chats, the rants and the good nights and all of it. Maybe I could just see myself in the way they talked to me, but right now there's no reflection. 

C: Okay. Let's get out of here. You have too many memories in places like this, and you need to see that reflection again. 

She takes my hand and everything swirls and fades like watercolor paint and clouds until we achieve a dark grey nothingness filled with air. It doesn't feel like a void. It just feels like a pause waiting for something to come through. I hear my voice come through, saying "Okay, is everyone here?" 

The scene fades in and reveals itself. I'm talking to a huge group of musicians.

S: You're going to make me miss this all over again. 

C: How many times did you give this speech? I'm including the dancers and musicians. How many people did you talk to? 

S: I think I delivered this speech almost ten times. Hundreds of people. 

C: LOOK at that guy. Right in the middle. Look at the peoples' faces. (pause) What was the theme every time? 

S: Taking a breath, appreciating the moment. I think I said something about appreciating the journey, and supporting each other.

I stand there with her, silently, watching the speech unfold. I'm looking at everyone's faces, remembering the times I talked to dancers and knowing when I struck a chord, saying something that mattered. This is getting emotional. 

C: Hold on. Before you get too attached to this, let's go back again. 

Everything swirls again but with more speed, and then I'm back at my old theater, talking to the company with my mentor next to me. People are crying in the house. 

C: Do you remember when this speech felt like the height of how good things could ever be? How these theater years were daring and difficult and exhausting? 

S: I still remember going through that theater late at night, and talking to her, saying that this was going to end someday. A part of me wondered if things would ever be better than those years. 

C: And somehow, in the most stressful time, there you were after these years were done, without work, without direction, without even a plan for what to do with your life. 

S: I've been thinking about that a lot. 

C: Look at where you went, and what you did. 

The scene slowly fades, and we find ourselves at the beach, where some of my first conversations with her took place. I don't know what to say. She looks at me, studying my inability to speak. She looks out at the ocean. 

C: I remember a younger version of you who used to drive a white Jeep out to the beach, and he used to write about giving the ocean his thoughts, only to have the waves return the answers in pieces. This is the same guy who used to sit on the moon with a girl trying to figure things out, who wrote poems and plays and allowed his heart to dance and fall, and dance again. 

S: That girl wrote to me almost three years ago, you know. 

C: Yeah, I remember. it's good to know that she remembers those years the way you do. Some things aren't meant to work out. 

S: It's nice to know that it wasn't all just in my mind.

C: Like this? 

Shit.  She got me. 

S: Jerk. 

C: I want you to know something. I want you to know a few things. It's why I brought you here.

I keep my eyes out to the water. I'm not sure that I'm ready for a cheer up talk. 

C: All those times that you remember, that you wrote about or you dream about, for love or heart, they weren't just random special things that happen to anyone. The way you romanticize things, and put your heart into what you do despite obstacles or rejection, or whatever, that's you. That's what you do. It isn't a time that's over, or a product of youth or luck, it's part of you and how you can take the smallest thing and feel overwhelmed by it. (pause) It's still you. You still have stories and adventures, and new muses ahead of you. It was a part of you when we sat out here and watched the sunset, and it's still in your blood. (pause) it's why you're not satisfied right now. But it's okay; You'll find it again.   

S: I fucking love you. 

She laughs. 

C: Know what's funny about that? I am you. I'm your creation, so by default, you're reminding yourself that you...love...you. And it's okay to say that sometimes without arrogance or sarcasm. You're going to be okay. 

S: I'm going to be okay.

We sit there, looking out at the horizon as the sun sets over a vast ocean. As far as I can see, I can feel my reflection as deeply, and I'm ready for what tomorrow brings. 

The Tree of Tenere

A good friend of mine just told me a story about how her daughter is being bullied by a group of girls, and mainly one leader who is feeding misinformation and slander against her to the rest (Sound familiar? No no no let's not get political here). I know how strong her parents are, so I'm not worried that she's being taught various ways to deal with it. Her mom and I clashed for years getting a theater company off the ground, arguing for hours about artistic integrity and every single nut and bolt behind productions. You name it - scheduling, artwork, casting, programs - we argued about it until the fight was eventually spent and we realized that we were always fighting for the same things. I forget the actual moment we figured it out, but her presence lifted me to do some incredible things before I left it altogether. Her husband was also a great sounding board and practical thinker; I can see why they're such a good match and why they're amazing parents. 

I don't know who really has it worse, the kids who are bullied today or the kids who were bullied back when I was in school. While the kids are overwhelmed with social media and now have to learn from home, I distinctly remember the dread I dealt with going to school every day. Were they going to make fun of how I walked? My looks? Were they going to steal something from me when I wasn't looking again? At recess or P.E., was a ball going to be thrown at me or worse, during football, soccer, or other games, was I going to be blindsided by a ball, an elbow, or a trip? It was easier to make me flinch before the years my father put me in pop warner football. 

Playing for the Burbank Vikings only raised my pain tolerance, removing the flinch, but it didn't prevent me from being a target. It got me in the habit of counting my bruises in the bathtub after a game, and not being afraid of hitting people back. I think I may have thrown some Waterboy rage at a few people I tackled, even at a young age, but that just changed the nature of how I dealt with the bullies at my catholic grade school, where the nuns tried to scare us into behaving because God was watching us. He sure wasn't watching when I was being cornered by the group of bullies or when I started trading punches to the face. The very last fight I got into with them was eighth grade, when after school, one of the guys kept following me and pushing me into reacting, until I stopped, set my feet, and brought a punch from what felt like the southern atmosphere up to his mouth, raking the inside of his lips against his braces. He held his mouth and stood there, shocked, and I walked away. Not ten minutes later, his little brother rode up to me on his mongoose bike and said he heard I got a busted up mouth. I turned around, smiled, and said "Not me, but you might want to check up on your brother, though." He raced off, and I was never bothered again. 

When it came to graduation from that school, I stopped caring because I never felt supported by them, nor did I feel safe. I had two best friends, a first kiss with a girl I was infatuated with in 3rd grade, another puppy love for the rest of my time there, and that's all I wanted. I distracted my parents from graduation and skipped it.  I remember that we were working in the backyard, waist deep in a project where we had work gloves and tools everywhere, and my dad asked me when the ceremony was. I told him it was about two hours ago. He felt terrible, and called my mom outside, but I told them it was really okay. I didn't need to see anyone again, especially the guys who would love to take one last swipe at me. 

Imagine 6 years of people telling you that you're ugly, you do stupid things, that your existence was just a stain in their eyes. It was relentless, and I went into high school believing it. I had few close friendships in high school, and there was a lot of distraction, but my development was marinated in the soup of judgement. It was in college when I started to understand the long term effects it had on me, first attending classes with the younger brother of one of the original bullies, then surviving an abusive relationship where I just could not figure out which way was up. When the relationship ended I was finally broken, and it took roughly 2-3 years to even glance at the pieces and begin to put things together. 

Studying acting became my master class in human behavior, especially considering it was the Meisner technique, which didn't provide for people faking their way through scenes. I studied directing, watched them as real people navigating scenes, and immersed myself in that world intensely for a little over a decade. It was truly the only place where I felt alive, where truth mattered, where anything could happen and once the show was over, the slate was erased and you could start again another day. You could relive life, complete with a soundtrack and a whole room of people watching you, living with you, and then you had one last time to do it and make it count. What a gift! Hundreds of performances, maybe thousands, and it never got old for me. It changed how I saw people in real life, and on one hand, it built a vocation for watching out for people who were similarly marginalized, mostly artists. On the other hand, it also put me in the place of recognizing some abusive people I'd cross paths with, who didn't worry about the collateral damage around them, or the people they hurt. 

It dawned on me; Some people grow up but don't grow out of the habit of bending other people to their will. Other people learn how to bully over time. So little is done to check off that behavior on a base social level, because people are often either good at reading it immediately and then walking away, or they, like me at so many points in my life, just assume they're right and adjust our own behavior accordingly. Sometimes we even fill in the blanks: They're totally right to act this way. I am not good enough to be treated well by them. Of course they reward other people with compliments while at the same time love to point out all of my flaws. They know me. They see me. Who cares if my heart is in the right place? 

Sometimes I wonder how I dealt with it for so long. Maybe I didn't know I could walk away. Maybe I needed to react but realized that every single reaction was prelabeled and already denied the oxygen needed to spark. In some cases, I just blocked and hid from the people online, and that became the easy fix if I knew they were hostile. Others,  I held onto for want of the good moments as long as I could, and then, when I just couldn't take it any more, I left definitively and changed as a result. Sometimes I just couldn't walk away, since we were bound by a workplace. Each time. I used that energy, that push away, to invest in myself and become a better person, and when I figured out how, I used the energy to invest in people around me. 

If I'm being completely honest, I'm not happy about things I feel like I've missed out on, but I absolutely would not trade who I am now if given the chance to go back, do it all over again, and maybe be just like everyone else. If anything, I have had to lean harder into my sense of self to compensate for the price tag stuck on my skin. I've had to trust my likes and dislikes, my presence in the moment, my expressiveness, and learn to keep myself company. I've learned to visit envy but not make it a companion, and to exercise a daily count of my blessings and qualities. I've allowed myself to believe that the things I do will leave behind a marked difference in the world without so much self awareness, in that those things were never about me. I've had to pick up the torch of love my parents had for me and take it with me wherever I go. 

The bullies from grade school are all scattered or dead, the ones from adulthood still honing their craft, I'm assuming. If the future holds something different for me, I am still out here in the middle of nowhere, roots deep in the soil and ready for it. 

I think my friend's daughter is going to be fine. She's brilliant, sensitive, resilient, and has a lot of support. My friend was pregnant with her when we worked on my musical together. If all of those hours of me playing guitar to her connected us in any way, I hope it gives her some strength and clarity. 

I think we're both going to be okay.