Compass

The view from where I stand is so different, as if I took a long walk absorbed in my thoughts and didn't realize I left the city. Life had been the same for years, maybe a decade, where I was constantly going from one schedule to the next, creating, fighting, always hungry to get to the next thing. It was one half of life lived in the misery of a day job, and one half breathed onto stage, rehearsing and playing, working hard and trying not to blink so I didn't lose a single moment. The only problem was that though I did more and achieved more than anyone, including myself, could ever imagine, I didn't actually get anywhere. I made my mark at work, transformed the stage, but I stood at the same level, staring at the same four walls. I think that's why I quit managing the theater. It wasn't so much the politics and frequent miscommunication. It was the sense of being in a different place than everyone else.

Looking back, that might be where the crack was formed. I lost my job, lost a lot of contact with friends in the process, and arrived at this view, a long journey pared down to one set of footprints and more change on the way. I've had nothing but time and space to think about what I've done and whether or not all of this was worth it. I realize I've been flipping over this same exact theme as if I've been studying the little holes on either side of a pancake, but something always happens that takes me back for a moment...draws my eyes to the horizon behind me and then turn to scan the foggy future. Something always makes me wonder about my hands and the relevance of the things I can do. This is just one the many wonderful things about being 40.

Something always comes up...the other day I was cc'ed on an email from an old friend about the play we'll be in this Saturday. It's going to be her last. It will also probably be the last time I will see her for a long while, as she's moving out of the country to get married. She was my favorite girlfriend on stage, my duet in the musical that took so much out of me. She spent the day with me when I got ready to take that train trip, and took me to the station. I knew she was engaged, and newly so, but I didn't expect her to leave so quickly. In between her acting jobs, she was a great friend, and...okay, I just caught myself because for some reason I'm eulogizing her. Maybe I'm not really talking about her at all. New paragraph. Get off this.

I once wrote that you never see love coming, but when it leaves, you watch it's every step. I guess...I love my friends and sometimes wish things would never change, but they do. Friends in my past have gotten married or moved away, or just faded from one life to another, and they've all become unrecognizable in a way. I know I'll be in the right frame of mind on Saturday to say goodbye to this friend, because emotionally I have to become a little detached when I do this play (it's complicated), but in the back of my mind I know two other friends will soon be married, and I'll isolate a little more. Everything seems to be pointing to the things I've done and will do more so than the people I've been around, so I stand here with this strange, different view, trying to reconcile what I've done and what I'm meant to do at this point.

Make art. That's what Glen Hansard said at the Oscars when he accepted his award for best song. That was the first thing spoken the whole night that had an impact on me. Make art. That, of course, set the table for what his partner had to say after: "Hi everyone. I just want to thank you so much. This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend most of their time struggling, and this, the fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible. And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up. And this song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are. And so thank you so much, who helped us along the way. Thank you."

There lies the courage to move on and keep trying, in those words, in the heart of truth and pursuit of a voice in art. People have not always made sense to me on a very personal level, but find me in the middle of writing a play, standing in front of actors with my notebook in hand, or playing guitar and singing with others, and you can see me live in a way that love always failed me. As the new saying goes, "Unlucky in love, damn good at art."

It's time to get moving again.