Teens Like Phil

I recently worked on a project that I feel so excited about, and find so important to share.  The film, Teens Like Phil, deals with the bond of friendship and love, corrupted by fear and violence, between two young men.  Throughout the past year we have heard about a pronounced uptick in teen suicide and bullying.  Whether that uptick is the result of increased awareness or an actual rise in self inflicted violence is debatable, but hardly the point.  There are kids out there dying for being who they are and believing that that is not enough to warrant living.  As a man who understands what that felt like, I want to implore you to seek out those who may not know that there is light and joy at the end of that tunnel.

Isolation is a self-perpetuating condition.  It's strange how, once we feel abandoned, betrayed, antagonized, or ridiculed by a particular person or group of people, we begin to remove ourselves from the general society at large.  We begin to fear first the cause of our tumult, and then the world beyond it, because we begin to believe the awfulness that surrounds and is directed towards us.  We start to believe the diminished sense of place and worth that comes with such relentless contempt, and suddenly we are on a precipitous downhill course until we stand on a cliff edge, with nowhere to go and nowhere to turn.

The thing is, there is always somewhere to turn.  The first thing to realize is that giving up is not an option.  It never is.  There is a difference between acquiescing graciously and deciding to give up.  The former denotes a full fight to live the breadth of your time here.  It means that you have experienced everything that is part and parcel with living, and done so wholly, no matter how long your life may be.  The latter is the total antithesis of all that entails.  It is an inability to see beyond this moment, to know that the world is infinitely more joyous, and terrifying, than this.  It refuses to acknowledge the vast resources of your spirit, and your strength that far exceeds what you can imagine.

I want all of you to remember, if the path you're on is fraught with obstacles and hurts that you cannot fathom coming out of, to call to mind the proverbial light.  It's always there.  Whether from God, or the Universe, or your own Spirit; I don't care how you define it.  Find it.  Hold it.  And remind yourself of it constantly.  Because the path will eventually clear.  And know that you are a member of a community.  There is always someone who cares, or is willing to care.  All you need to do is seek it out.

I beseech those of you who have gone through your own trials, your own deep hurts, to seek out those in turmoil.  Give them the benediction of your compassion, your empathy, and your understanding.  It is so desperately needed.  I know I'm proselytizing, but fuck that.  It is important and needs to be shared.  People are dying because they feel isolated, ostracized, and alone.  People on the very cusp of their lives, who through the cruelty of others, will now never know the joy of a life fully lived.  That is the greatest shame.

One Size Does Not Fit All

My ex-roommate was thoroughly mortified by the show Hoarders, and for good reason.  No one ever wants to sink that low.  It's mortifying.  It's embarrassing.  It shows people your taste in clothes from the Seventies.  But the deeper issue is the emotional barricade these people put up through accumulating stuff.  Almost a bit like the drama we occupy ourselves with in life.  For example, say you have been seeing someone.  Gabe, perhaps.  Funny, warm, great smile, good body, motivated, and you feel so at ease around him.  You always have fun, laughing at yourselves over ice cream, feeling like fatties.  But you're just dating.  Something doesn't feel right.  Maybe he's a little too tall, or doesn't make enough money, or has a strange laugh that reminds you of the lovechild of a ghoul and a car engine revving.  So you continue to date around.

And then, out of the blue, you meet the perfect man at Barney's or better yet, Crunch.  He checks every box on your list.  Lawyer?  Check.  Apartment in a really classy co-op on the Upper West?  Check. Thighs that Michelangelo used to model the David?  Double check.  Huge fig leaf?  I think my nips just got hard. And his name?  Lorenzo.  The next week you indulge in three or seven cocktails (who counts?) at dinner with Lorenzo, who likes your arms and shows you how big that fig leaf is.  It is nirvana.  Angels sing and trumpets blare.  You realize that you have met the ONE.   You will now be featured on Barefoot Contessa, one of Ina's ridiculously happy, turtleneck clad gays of uncertain but affluent financial means.  Your days will consist of a hugely satisfying job working in advertising for Vanity Fair, commuting between the co-op and the Hamptons, milk painting the shabby chic dresser you found for the foyer entrance.  Idyllic doesn't describe it; Webster's can't define it.

You revel in your new found Apollo and the wondrous world you plan to build together.  Bliss, all in one week.  So what if he hasn't called in three days after your last date at Five Guys?  He is the ONE.  He knows the special bond you have formed, all over cooing words and bubble time in the hot tub.  Gabe, of the great smile, who's seen you as a sloppy mess after being out, and still wanted to take you home to cuddle, calls you to go out to a street faire in the Village this weekend.  But you're busy.  You're waiting for Lo-Ren-Zo.  You're on Cloud Nine.

Hmm.  He still hasn't called.  You check your voicemail.  Nothing.  A few more days go by.  Nothing.  You are in the dumps.  You call Gabe back and agree to go to the faire.  It's something to do.  You're a little sullen, a little pouty, and a whole lot of sass when you meet him.  Nothing is going to lift your spirits.  You are mourning the loss of your caviar dreams.  Oh look, one of your favorite food trucks, that sells the best Belgian waffles outside of Brussels, is parked on the corner.  You get one, and share it with Gabe, who comments that you look like an overly satisfied chipmunk.  That makes you chortle, which makes you cough, as you've just aspirated the powdered sugar on your bite of waffle.  Gabe (damn that smile) laughs at you.  You glare, but you're not mad.  He's just so warm, so comfortable, so funny.  Then suddenly you realize it.  Maybe it really is a quiet thing.  Maybe this is your Robin Leach dream.  And just at that moment, Gabe hands you a taster glass of champagne.  You smile back at him.  A smile of recognition.  And those jeans you bought at Barney's when you met...what's his name?  Oh yeah, they don't fit anymore.

La Voce

For an artist, the goal is often to communicate one's beliefs and ideas in forms that engage the viewer, and relates to them in that viewer's specific context; the way they see the world, so to speak.  By far the most expressive tool of communication for the singer is the voice, both literally and figuratively.  We cultivate the former through the practice of the voice and its musculature: timbre, pitch, dynamic, breathe.  We seek to make the voice pleasant to the ear, to perhaps emulate those that we admire, and to develop proper technique to ensure longevity of the muscle.

However, how often do we cultivate the latter?  The sense of one's own unique perspective, as reflected in sound?  I find, myself included, that we often forget ourselves in the search of the perfect sound.  We can learn to have the best technique in the world, but if we have no idea where we came from, and what we are trying to communicate, who's compelled to listen to anything we have to say?

I recently listened to a recording of myself.  It was perfectly serviceable, pretty at times, but what struck me was how little of my own personality came through.  I was shocked.  I'd always encouraged my friends to seek out there voice, their passion, and yet here I had so little of my own personality within my singing.  It brought me to the realization that, perhaps, I'd lost my voice in trying so hard to conform to what I thought was the sound I was supposed to produce.

I have lived much of my adult life forming my unique perspective, after having regained my voice after so long.  Not terribly ruffled, quirky, a little odd, loud, gregarious, maybe slightly unsettling, definitely dirty-minded, in love with love....those things I get.  Those things are ME.  Now I have to find out how to include all that back into my voice.  I have a feeling it might be harder than I expect.  Actually, I know it will be harder than I expect.  It always is, and I'd be foolish to think otherwise.  But, I could surprise myself...so perhaps it won't be so hard?  Hmm.  How circuitous.  I'm just excited to finally bring both together into one.  My literal voice: The final frontier.

Fackus!

Say it with me now.  Fackus.  Despite what you think the etymology of the word may be, it comes directly from my diving coach in high school.  His Greek-born father used to scream it at him during practices.  "Chyou needa to fackus!" he would shout from the stands.  The call seemed to help his son find the nerve, ambition, and drive to forge ahead to the next plateau.  It got him through grueling practices.  And it taught him the value of humor within competition and work.  Naturally, he wanted to pass it on to us young, impressionable teenagers.  Right before a dive, while concentrating on the task at hand, a voice would rise up from beside the pool.  "Fackus!"  It might not have helped us with our concentration, but it certainly got us to laugh as we glided into the pool.  Invariably, that became a rallying cry when one of us was having a particularly off day.

There's enormous strength in laughing at yourself as you find your footing and watch yourself flounder.  Think about it.  If you make a big mistake, you have one of two choices.  You could mope, and bemoan the fact that you made the mistake in the first place, or you could laugh, learn, and let it go.  Of course, that's a gross oversimplification, but as Polonius said, "Brevity is the soul of wit."  Therefore, to wit.  

I used to take myself very seriously.  In fact, I think it's this very quality that made me too lazy to do the work, too insecure to push myself, and too prideful to accept constructive criticism at times when I needed it most.  Perhaps I'm being harsh with myself, but sometimes a good thorough taking stock is in order.  So here's a reminder to wipe the poop off, throw the chip off my shoulder, and do what needs to be done.  Laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.  If you've felt that you haven't lived up to your potential because you've gotten in your own way, I give you full permission to get out of the way.  Seriously, get the hell out of the way.  Just stick to the enterprise and off you go.  A clairvoyant once told me to "clear the attic."  At the time it unnerved me, because I knew what she meant, but had no means to do so.  I have those means now.  Hard fought, gainfully won, and heaven sent.  That is a wonderfully gratifying feeling.

To all who have helped me, guided me, and tried to pull it out of me when I couldn't and wouldn't let you, I apologize.  I wasn't ready, and I wasn't trying.  I was simply resting on laurels that weren't there, because I was too lazy and afraid to do the work.  I'm so sorry, but so grateful to you all for everything you have taught me.  You may not feel like I learned it, but I did, though it's taken years of active work, reflection, and perseverance to grasp it.  Thank you.

Now, back to work!

Auditions....and all of that ilk.

So the past couple of months have been a non-stop whirl of auditions, callbacks, and lessons.  I don't think I saw my roommate for a week and a half in one particular stretch.  It was almost mind-numbing.  Luckily, a few things have panned out, so my summer is all set.

I suppose this being my first time auditioning for summer stock season, I had a few lessons to learn.  However, I was ill-prepared for the cattle calls of five hundred people, trying to mold my particular skills and downplay my shortcomings to fit into prospective theaters' seasons.  I have usually been gone on a job during this time, and so going through it myself was an eye opener.

The first real lesson I learned was that I really have become a rusty dancer, even with the renewed effort to regain my dance ability.  In the four years since I last danced in a show, I have primarily been cast in roles that require little of that skill set.  I feel a bit like an infant, learning to walk, to move through space.  Nonetheless, it's better than where I was some five months ago.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, I've learned a great deal about trusting my instincts in crafting a song, a character, and a complete arc through the show.  I'm able to see where I would like to go with my character, how he relates to others onstage, and how to contribute my voice and my energy to the collective theatrical process.  I hope I make April Shawhan proud!

The third, and most interesting, lesson is that how I perceive myself as a performer and an artist, and the set of skills that I have worked through and honed in the past few years is now different from how I'm perceived by those casting.  When I danced a great deal, I was what you could call a real ensemble kid.  I loved working the chorus.  It was a comradeship; a coming together of people, usually just out of college, who wanted to put on a show.  It was loud and boisterous and silly almost.  I loved it.

But I realized, sadly, that I'm no longer that kid.  I've been pushing myself to deepen as an artist, and having neglected my dancing ability, I found the realization of my lack of skill both a slap in the face to my sense of self, and somewhat bittersweet.  I saw that I was growing into a different kind of artist, even if I couldn't move like those kids at all the dance callbacks I went to.  However, many of the theaters still see me as that kid.  Thankfully, I now have life behind me, and experience that I hope has deepened my other abilities and given me something else to offer.  Maybe not the wide-eyed eagerness, but a deeper sense of self awareness, and a richer well of expression and experience.  I wouldn't change the last four years for the world, and I'm prepared to show the world a maturer, quirkier, richer performer than that kid from then.  I'm ready now; who wants to see it?

Stop worrying where you're going, move on.

August 2, 2011- Note: This post is rather personal, and is really my final say on a matter that I reflected on for a long time.  As I wrote it, my inability to expound on my feelings seemed to give way to clarity.  I had finally uttered what I had spent so many months trying to find words to define.  When I finished, it was with enormous relief.  That day I let it go.  I hadn't expected it, but it came nonetheless.  I leave it here as a reminder of where I was.  With grace, it weighs me no more.


I love that line.  In seven words, Sondheim says so much.  You're constantly seeing ahead, projecting ahead, that you forget that you are already moving ahead.  And in that regard, you get stuck in a strange purgatory, never fully present, but not living out a real future.  Just an envisioned one.

That's a lot like some relationships, isn't it?

My last relationship saw me at probably one of the most vulnerable and unhappy times of my life.  The future loomed ahead of me, and because I was touring the country, having left behind my new home and newly formed friendships in New York City, I had very little stability.  That coupled with some antagonistic tourmates made life a bit of nightmare, and from which I found little escape.  My only escape was my long distance relationship, which in retrospect (being 20/20) I shouldn't have started in the first place.  Our relationship existed solely on the phone.  No shared memories.  No time spent in the others company, save the one time he was able to visit.  It was like having someone to tell you the things you wanted to hear, without the actions to really back it up.  And it occurred on both ends of that line; we both did that to each other.  I acted like a teenager, with the attendant highs and lows.  I needed a life line from touring, I grabbed it, and after it ended I have to say I was rather ashamed of, and stunned by, my behavior.

Why had I behaved this way?  Why was I so volatile?  I had made explicit to myself what I would and would not like in a relationship, and yet all my rational thought had simply and singly been thrown out the window.  I'm fairly levelheaded when it comes to my friends and their issues and problems; I understand many different opinions and sides, and try to give them all equal weight.  I understand that ambiguity.  However, for myself, I became victim to the whims of my emotions, and I wanted the answers that served MY purpose.  In other words, I couldn't practice what I preached, and that started me to thinking.

I'm the kind of guy to whom the phrase "Still waters run deep" applies in spades. I spent most of my teenage years in a bit of a daze.  I had lost all personality, lost my own voice.  Numb to most anything but this deep sense of something wrong that I couldn't articulate until my final year of college. When I finally sought help and learned to feel something, anything, it wasn't at all what I expected.  Instead of the jubilant emotions that I had hoped to feel, I was left dealing with the huge sense of loss I couldn't fathom.  Where had it come from?  And then it came to me, like a door opening onto a vast and pitch black hall: My parents' divorce.  I had never realized it before because I had buried the anger and frustration so deeply that it seemed to disappear.  Of course, it hadn't.  Upon reflection, it became a defining moment of my life.  As a friend once told me, "It's as if all the color was sucked out of the world."

The pain had been more than I could handle, and an emotionally withdrawn armor had formed, mostly against letting myself love someone, or be loved by someone, lest I get hurt again.  I wasn't antagonistic or bitter, but aloof to life and work, taking little interest in the things I used to love, and only seeking out relationships sporadically.  When I felt that people were starting to get too enmeshed in my life, I'd find a new place to be or move.  It seemed to manifest as the restlessness I've mentioned before, and I always justified it because of my natural need for adventure and endeavor, but on reflection, I realized it was partially running away.  I liked being alone, and doing things on my own, only because it prevented people from seeing the hurt I was in, from which I was sure most of my friends would flee to avoid.  Only when I would get intimately involved with someone would I have to confront my deeper turmoil, and even then I didn't have the ability to understand and articulate it.  However, the end of my last relationship threw it all into high relief, and I decided to finally let myself grieve, both for the relationship and for the past.  I wanted to be conscious of every emotion, every nuance of feeling that passed through me.  I began to piece myself together.  I began to trust myself and those I loved.

Today, the sadness, the ache has diminished and changed somewhat, but I realize it may never quite go away.  However, knowing it's there, and respecting it, is much of the battle.  Each disappointment feels greater because of it, and each triumph is infinitely more rich.  Thankfully, I can now see it, when before, I was merely coasting through life not knowing.  The process of stripping it of its negative power may take a long time, but if that's the price to pay for the freedom from, or the acceptance of, it, then that's the way this cookie has to crumble.  That's the way to move on.  And that's what I think Sondheim meant.

LA to NYC...did I sign up for this?

Okay okay.  I understand the concern.  "Where have you been?", you might ask.  Or perhaps,"We were sick with worry."  Maybe even, "We couldn't function without your insight."  Or you actually probably didn't think a nit about it.  Because I know I forgot.

So here I am again, keeping myself accountable.  It's been a good four months since I last wrote anything, so here's a brief recap:

-I went to upstate NewYork to workshop a children's musical.

-I got cast and shot an independent film/pilot presentation in LA.

-I had Thanksgiving with my Mom for the first time in three years in NYC.

-I went home for the holidays for the first time in two years in LA.

All in all, not terribly eventful and yet enormously so.  Most people accrue a couple thousand frequent flyer miles in six months to a year.  I accrued 8000 in three.  And for the first time in my life I got tired of travel.

Now let me explain.  For as long as I can remember, I've loved travelling.  I couldn't get enough.  Flights, to me, were like something out of magic.  I tried caviar for the first time on a plane (loved it).  I tried coffee for the first time on a plane (hated it....but not for long).  It was the most intense, awesome experience.  To be in one place and in the span of a few hours to find yourself somewhere so foreign, you had to recalibrate everything.  That was amazing to me!

So I thought nothing of the travel plans some four months ago before I started.  Just another adventure.

But this time around, it wasn't an adventure.  It was work, and for long stretches of time.  And each time I realized that I was leaving behind friends in either place.  I had always thought that we would pick up right where we left off, but in actuality I was missing out on hanging around, being with them, joking with them, doing stupid things with them.  I'm putting each friendship/relationship in stasis.  To constantly travel and work.  I love what I do, but I think a bit more balance might be in order.

Somewhere in my soul is this incredible feeling of motion.  I love stillness, but invariably a moment of pure adrenaline will rush me off to do something.  And travel has become a huge component of that.  My chance to discover a new place, a new perspective, new people, if just for a little while.  If there was a shuttle to Mars, I would be the first one on it.

So now I am in the middle of a dilemma:  How do I find the balance within work and life?  How do I give and respect each in equal measure?   For now, I can only be where I am and enjoy where I am.  But something is coming.  What?  I can't say.   But I can keep my eyes open.