I lifted the title from a song from Dolly Parton's 9 to 5. As my old roommate Robert once espoused, "Dolly will always be the Queen." It's been playing in my head for weeks, and I suppose with good reason. This year has been one of incredible growth and change, from opening myself up to love and faith, to finding new outlets for creative work, to rethinking my place in this business, and what that might mean for me. What I found was eye-opening, if not because the revelations came out of the blue, but because I had felt the stirrings of change for such a long time, and it took a series of ultimately freeing circumstances to see that what I had been holding on to, as well as who I thought I was and what mattered most to me had already changed, and I hadn't had the time to stop and take a look. I was growing with each experience, with powerful lessons learned, but I didn't realize at the time that something deeper was going on.
Acting in a comedic short film in LA at the beginning of the year helped me clarify my own style as a performer, as well as exposing me to a completely different working process. Being the acting coach, and de facto co-director on my friend's short film taught me the value of articulating my views and thoughts succinctly, and helped me relearn the value of collaboration. Doing the reading helped me expedite fast, clear choices about circumstance and character. Miss Saigon taught me the essence of trust in my fellow performers, the confidence in my instincts, and how to let go of the way I had conducted my Creative Process in the past. Each time I learned to breathe, and to have faith.
But coming home from Maine, where I really had a chance to just sit and be with the quiet, to the cacophony and whirlwind of the city, where I couldn't even hear myself think, brought home the fact that I didn't feel New York anymore, and I hadn't felt that way for a while. I had made some incredible connections and had some amazing opportunities, but my priorities no longer consisted of the constant grind of auditions, classes, workshops, and the like. I wanted a new creative outlet, and a different direction, but I had no clue what it was.
As soon as that thought came to me, I fought it viciously. I strived tooth and hard-tacked nail to live my dream of being a musical theater performer, and I had worked hard to see it through. I had left all I had known in California, with it's safety net of home, job, and emotional security, to live in New York City with 2 suitcases, $2000, and no friends. I cried for a month solid. But by the end of my first six months, I had gotten a job, found myself an apartment I loved, made a sweet, solid group of friends, and booked a national tour. I felt exhilarated and that I found my calling and place. To suddenly see that what I wanted to do, and more so, that my priorities were changing, seemed like a denial of everything I'd worked for.
The harder I fought the feeling, the more depressed I became. I fell into a deep, dark rut. I was going through the motions, trying to live in the city, looking for an apartment and a job, and I was hurting like hell. Each day seemed a struggle. If you want an image, think of a lost puppy, which would be endearingly cute, but not on a grown 28 year-old man. I became morose, tired, unmotivated, and forgetful. Anger and frustration seemed to bubble just below the surface, along with a sadness for feeling helpless. I couldn't tell anyone how I felt, even though I'm certain my energy gave me away. I've been in that place once before, and I will say this: It sucks ballsacks.
Unfortunately, when I get stuck in my head, it becomes incredibly hard to look outward and take care of, and be there for, those around me. I forget that my problems are not exclusive, and that others need just as much attention and care as I do. And because I can't be there for myself, how can I hope to be there for anyone else? I know I certainly wasn't my best self during this time even if I did try as hard as I could, and I hope those I love know, and can forgive me. I can only learn and do better next time.
Ultimately, circumstances brought me to a point where I had nothing holding me to New York, and I finally had to look that nagging thought right in the face. I sat, breathed, and listened. My Spirit talking to me, so to speak. With sadness, I realized that my time in NYC was at a crossroads. I still have much to give, and to learn from the city, but I have neglected for far too long that I have some lessons to learn elsewhere, if for a little while. And though I'm not turning back from the dream of living the musical theater performer's life in NYC, I had been holding on to it tightly, and like most things, when you grasp and cling to them, you smother their life, their oxygen. You have to let it go, so it can grow and fly.
So now I sit on a plane bound for Los Angeles. It will be the first time in years that I haven't had something to plan towards. Ironically enough, the biggest growth has been when I didn't plan, but simply remained open to whatever possibility might come up. It is still a huge leap of faith, and is going to take enormous work, courage, and trust to not get discouraged and uncertain, but I'm incredibly optimistic, and I'm taking time to listen to my Spirit. Who knows what I may find? That's half the fun, I suppose.
To extrapolate on my last post, when I censor myself with the negative talk, denial and expectations I perceive in my head, I smother both the bad and the good within me. To be honest, but loving with who I am, where I'm at, and how I feel, so that I can be honest and loving with the people in my life and make smart, informed choices has been the biggest lesson in growth, love and forgiveness this year. So as the holidays roll in, all I wish for you is the courage to show up for yourself, for those you love, and for your future. Get out of your head and open up. You might find answers that aren't pretty, but they are real, and in the long run so worthwhile. Don't be afraid of them. It's the best gift you can give. Well, the best gift besides that new iPad.
