The Caves of Hira

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....