I had written the perfect blog entry, the one that encapsulated the moment and mood, and in the end it pulled together all of the points and painted a simple lesson for me, colored in with a palette of perspective. It was a bite-sized blog economically written, complete with a bathroom break and a deceptive beginning, and then....
You know, sometimes as in life, you click on "submit" or "complete", or in this case you click on "preview & post", and you end up somewhere completely unexpected. "Preview & post" took me to a page of advertising. Going back one page took me to blankness. What was fed to the MySpace blogosphere as an intricate meal of ideas and feelings came out as a silly litle fart. Funny, how these little things remind me of the larger things I've done with my life. I especially go through this at work - all preparation and no fanfare - but the paycheck seems to make things easier.
Anyway, I started this entry in my notebook, the 5x8 ruled book, of which I have a large stack from over a decade and a half of journal writing. I could take that anywhere and often needed it with me as an escape. That's where writing scripts and poetry were born, the kind of lingering gaseous cloud that occasionally gives birth to a few starry ideas. This little book combined with frequent "Ctrl + A / Ctrl + C" keystrokes will hopefully prevent another lost entry. I couldn't recreate it; It was late at night and had spent myself writing it. It's time to move on. I guess that was one of the central themes to that lost entry. It's the whole moving on thing that I keep talking about, with constant reminders to live in the moment.
I opened a play last weekend, the last one I intend to fully produce and direct at Playhouse West. We had a standing ovation on opening night and a full house the following night. It felt right. If I'm going to work on a statement play, I want it to be received well, and I want people to see my actors loving what they do. All professionalism aside, I want people to hear what I'm saying as an artist, that apathy is unforgivable. I, like everyone else will tell you about themselves, like speaking my mind, and I try my best to word things as carefully as I can so that people know exactly what I'm saying. I've been called blunt. I've also been called tactful, but this is all good in everyday conversation. As an artist - and I almost hate using that term, but I wake up every day with the need to be creative - I see things that need to be commented on, or I feel stories that need to be told. That's why I could never walk away from this life. This is who I am.
Last night I found myself in front of a truly inspiring girl, a goddess with a magnetic smile, telling her exactly what I saw in her in the most poetic terms, without reservation or doubt. I had only one thing in mind, that I had to tell her who she was to me. I couldn't lose the opportunity. I know we live in a world that instigates comparison and fear. I know we work in an industry (entertainment) that constantly tells you that you're not good enough, or that we already have people like you. The people who succeed are either those who persevere or those who are the current flavor. Now, it would be too easy for me to say that I'm going to champion those who persevere, but that would be taking something away from what I do, and especially, from this girl. No, I will speak up because that's what I have to do with a gift of communication. If I can express ideas, if I can translate, then I simply have to say something.
First of all, my job as a director is to make a play common. I want everyone to recognize what's happening, to relate to what's happening in whatever medium I'm working in. A statement is pointless if I'm the only one who believes it. I have to make sure my actors understand what we're trying to say. I have to make sure that every aspect of what I create contributes to the idea. I'm not sloppy that way.
Okay, enough about the technical stuff.
The girl is amazing. She's sweet, smart, beautiful, and especially unique. She's talented, and there's something about her...that's completely enchanting. I equate her with that elusive idea of something romantic, as if she's always shot with that soft lens that blurs your vision slightly. I made a connection last night as the full moon rose above the roofline outside the theater before I went on stage last night. There it was, perfect and mysterious, rising above everything with a glow that makes it bright enough to make your eyes adjust, but still, you had to look. Every time I see the moon - I've always looked for it - it's hypnotic. So is the girl. When I see the moon, I'll think of her.
Have you ever seen someone like that? Open your eyes...and don't let the moment go by. I may have lost a journal entry, I may have created or worked on things in the past that only had meaning for me and nobody else, but the girl knew for at least a moment that someone was inspired by her, and loved her completely for it.
I don't know how other people go through life sticking to a schedule, filling the hours with work, shopping, cooking, cleaning, and distractions scattered throughout the weeks that slip by unnoticed. I don't know how people maintain. That's not me. I have a different way of doing things, and it has everything to do with recognizing the world around me. That's the life I've chosen.
Ahhh wait...select all...copy...now, preview and post.
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