Everyone who talks about independence and brags about it on social media is lying to you. I can't help seeing the brag as a beacon for validation, because the truth about independence is that it's a grind. To be your only liability, to make plans for yourself and indulge in your whims, to give all of yourself to what you do, guarantees that somewhere along the line people will detach and move past while they create their lives, build families, and maintain close friends. Your importance and relevance is fleeting; What brings us together - the common things we work for, be they art or work - is temporary and has a short memory.
I'll give you a moment to wipe some of the deep cynicism from your eyes. I know I sound a little bitter. There are reasons. Here's a blank space to bleach that opening a bit.
[this space left intentionally free from negative thoughts]
Throughout the long written history of my life that I have managed to keep in various versions of this journal, I have exercised curiosity and hope, turning over the topsoil and evolving with time, and trying to make sense of the windy path that I've been on. When I began, I was fresh out of high school with a crush on a cheerleader and a love for playing music. The love for music was suffocated by music teachers who grounded the process to a halt (only one had a love for expression). I gave up; It was a wash. I then pursued theater, and the journal followed me as I started to carve my own path. Little did I know that the habit of finding my own way would apply to everything: my artistic life, my work, my relationships.
Now I am in my 50s, both parents gone and with a chapter of my career now behind me, gone are hundreds of people who mostly don't know who I am any more or how I'm doing now. They're living new stories as they build on the foundation left behind. Now I have moments where I'm nobody to a lot of people, and I won't allow myself a single moment to reminisce about the good old days. That's not who I am, and those memories are only useful to stick on the huge door that continues to be closed.
It's a really good thing that I've been here before, having left a theater company I gave all of myself to and a job that funded it all. The span of 2007-2008 was a year spent in depression, self discovery, and a little confusion over what direction I was headed in. It was a pause before the next overture began, and what followed was an intense 12 years that built up a crescendo and then fell to silence. I have been here before. I have been someone, and then nobody, only to become someone new. I'm back to being nobody, hidden in this apartment watching the calendar days flip away as meaningful as the previous day. Saturdays are no different than Wednesdays, and holidays just come and go without any fanfare, with a few tone deaf people still focused on long weekends (what are those?) and complaining about work.
When I get into these depressed ruts, I immediately get restless and find myself working hard to climb out. I try to look for the silver lining - are there are many - and help myself understand the unique situation I'm in. There are things I have to revisit in order to forget: the connections I had with people when I obsessed about the work and getting it right, the speculative promises to keep me in mind and bring me back into the fold, the struggle to get from week to week when I was working while trying to keep a failing relationship afloat, the feeling that sometimes the only validation I received was from the artists who were benefiting from my hustle. I also have to understand the perception that for the most part, I believe people are just waiting to see how I'm going to land and evolve, and that's a super interesting pattern I can't ignore.
For a long time, I have referred to the exponential pattern of me taking leadership roles and expanding the scope every few years. It began with college theater, where I took on the publicity department and acting as president of the dramatic society. I was the go-to person for all things theater related. I left there and a few years later, I joined Playhouse West and became not only the technical and managing director that kept the theater company going, but also became a prolific director. I left there and went to Universal to run the entertainment program, produce events, and manage artists. Now that I feel that part is truly over, I have to trust that something new will come along. As before, I have to know that nobody but me will see potential. I also have to know that wherever I land, not everyone will be a fan and people may resist whatever I do. I used to push back or hate defeat. I'm older and wiser now. I think I've learned how to work on the big things - being in the spotlight under the pressure - and the little things - exercising a short memory and understanding how to give trust and reclaim it. It's a work in progress.
Today I got a message that a friend of mine had died a couple of days ago. He had a difficult life after a debilitating accident, but when our paths crossed he uniquely challenged and then championed me. Through that experience I've had some lifelong friends and some amazing memories, but damn. It makes me think about the quality of my life, and what things should matter. I get caught up in disappointing moments, especially lately, and I have to allow myself the moment to feel let down. I have to really, consciously, act on letting go, regardless of what happens. Do people even realize the effect of what they do or don't do? Do they realize the message they sometimes send to me, while protecting themselves? I wanted this life, where I could be isolated and in control of my own happiness. I can't let flawed interactions spoil that.
My father was very angry towards the end of his life, holding grudges about what seemed like unimportant things. I told him many times "there's no time to invest in things like this; We might not have a lot of time left." While my father was entitled to his perception of things, my friend had every reason to be angry but didn't spend a lot of time entertaining it. He was an avid competitive diver and then suddenly he lost it all after the accident. He couldn't move his arms or legs, he couldn't breathe on his own. Think about Christopher Reeves' situation. My friend was still committed to being positive and a good friend to all. He wasn't a guy who used to do things. He was still someone to be considered, someone who could affect lives, someone who was inspired and supportive.
And so it goes, on a day that I had plans that left me waiting and then abandoned, I had time to think about it all and hope for perspective. What was the life I've had to this point? Am I anywhere close to giving up? I spent part of the day upset, disappointed, feeling a mixture of emotions that made the afternoon feel like quicksand. I waited for hours for the day to right itself, for a distraction that was supposed to come. And then I went to a familiar place. I had to fix it myself, and let go of any conspiracy to cripple my ability to cope.
I got dressed, motivated, and left the house to begin a new program that would train me to eventually run a 5k. I haven't run any distance on a treadmill in two years, and haven't run outside in maybe five. I started something new, because I can't hold on to anger or feelings of resentment. They're too heavy, and whatever inspires them is too temporary.
I may be an option for some people, a useful but discarded utility, a person whose feelings never have to be considered, but I am my best option. I can never go wrong with taking care of myself. Now that I have more days behind me than I have ahead of me, I have to value this life I have the responsibility of curating. If not me, then who's going to do it? Who's going to consistently step up and pick me up, surprise me, help me before I think of asking for it?
I'm still here. I'm still important, and valuable. I still have stories to tell and great things to do. Enjoy your intermission while it lasts, because I'm waking up with purpose tomorrow.
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