A long time ago, I made a choice to lead a certain kind of life with little actual knowledge of where it would lead me. I literally reacted to a life that was and ran into the closest door of opportunity I could find, distracted from failure and self-doubt by raw emotion and fear. I was at the back door of a failed relationship and a reputation that did a spectacular supernova in the wake of it. It took me three years to wander, to wade, to slowly shed a skin before I could start again. In July of 1996, I joined Playhouse West.
For the next ten years, I functioned without any knowledge of that alternate life, the one I had failed at and could have chosen to attempt again. Everyone does, but my fear was that everyone compromises somehow so that they wouldn't be alone, and I, on the other hand, would much rather resign myself to being alone and being comfortable with that. I hold all the cards. Nobody gambles with me. Everything I get, I earn. I work, I create, and when I'm done, I walk away.
Of course, there is that other side. There's that dark side of the moon that I never revisited. Well, no, that's not entirely true. I shared the moon on brief occasions (brief, when you look at the 13 years from the supernova that changed my programming). That dark side...or is it on the dark side that I live? That other side haunts me sometimes. I've noticed it more lately. Sure, I've mentioned eHarmony (which still scares the living shit out of me sometimes - I'm compatible with her? 29 dimensions my ass!), but that's more the product of good intentions from my family.
So enough about me.
It seems that whatever decision you make, when it's a bold one you always find a moment to wonder what your life would be like to swing back in the other direction. Or maybe you just wonder what it would be like to swing away from this particular place, to wander off the path you've been travelling for so long. I've said goodbye to so many friends at Playhouse and at work, some with a heartfelt goodbye and a kiss on the cheek, others with silence. It's those people who make you think about alternatives, about all the options you have and never exercise. There is a little death in a goodbye....
Somehow this is different. By "this", I'm talking about the departure of my conscience and greatest champion - Andrea - from Playhouse. I'm using the word departure prematurely, because what she's actually doing is trailblazing a path that others will follow, and...here's the difference...I'm going to follow her. I have walked through the Playhouse theaters many times with a lump in my throat, because I knew someday it would all come to an end. I haven't exactly given an indication that I would leave, or that I'd slow down my involvement, but at the same time, I haven't seen many reasons to stay. For now, I'm planning on straddling the boundary line. I'm not making this change because I'm disgruntled, or just for the loyalty I have for Andrea; This makes sense for the evolution of my artistic life. I can do more than I'm doing now. I should start moving towards places that will support me more than expect me to fulfill imaginary responsibilities.
Did that sound disgruntled? Can I flip it and make it sound gruntled?
So all this goes towards an indication that I'm restless again. I can foresee at least five more drafts of my adoption/foster play, then there's the production of "the Shape of Things", a one-act festival, and the return of the musical possibly hanging somewhere in the balance there. Next year...more productions, more self-imposed challenges will come, but I have a feeling that they might not be lost in the blur of other priorities this time.
I am, after all, always thinking of alternatives, about the things I can create or help create, with inspiration from the trailblazers and the people who I think chose the harder route of making relationships work on the way to creating a family. How my friends have made that work is beyond me. It's amazing. The life I chose for myself has a completely different set of rules.
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