I have a very close friend named Dave. Dave was my theology professor in high school when I was 15. I've known him most of my life and fate as kept us in each other's lives over the years. When I went to college, Dave lived on campus as a resident minister during my sophomore and junior years. Then he moved to New York. When I moved to New York, he was one of the first phone calls I made. We just seemed to follow each other around. And since I've been back in LA, we see each other regularly because he has family here still.
Dave has always been an incredible influence on me. I consider him one of my spiritual mentors. We haven't spoken much in the past few months. I'm assuming busy lives have something to do with it. So we finally connected yesterday. It was a short phone call, but I could hear a heaviness in Dave's voice. Usually, I launch into what's been going on with me and he says really smart stuff and I feel better about my life. This call was different. We chatted about how busy he had been and he apologized for not getting in touch sooner.
Oh, I suppose it's here that I should add that Dave's a priest. Dave was saying that it was hard for him to get his academic work done because his priestly duties kept getting in the way. Dave's a college professor and a scholar. He writes articles for scholarly journals all of the time. He was telling me that he spent the afternoon sending out Christmas cards to parishioners and writing a homily when he should be finishing an article for publication. He seemed to be in a crossroads about what his life should look like. I understand the feeling. So I asked him how old he was. Because I seem to remember that he might be close to 60. He's 58. And that's when I kind of got it. I'm about to be 40 in about six or seven weeks. And the past two years have been a serious period of contemplation and growth. It's a revaluation time. Also, 60 is the age when you enter your third act. So there's a lot of work that happens before then.
He said he was thinking about the mistakes he had made in his life. I told him that I couldn't even begin to understand what that period in life is like. But I did understand what it was like to look back at a period of time and think about regrets. I think my thirties were full of wrong decisions. I told him that. It was a decade of trial and error. Most people might agree that the thirties are designated for that exact purpose. I didn't quite realize how true that was. But I told Dave that having gone through such a major period of transition, I now understand how that has prepared me for what feels like a fruitful time in my life.
People say that it all goes in a blink of an eye. And I frankly don't look 40 and I can't believe that I'm about to turn 40. But I'm sure as hell going to milk the next 20 years of my life. They're supposed to be good, according to most people. I feel like a true adult in a lot of ways. My Dad died and I"m about to hit this milestone. Dave's also contemplating his age. He also looks young and he's incredibly vital. But I imagine that 60 feels closer to death than he felt before. It's one of the first ages where you feel like it could happen soon. My Dad only had 9 years left after the big 60th birthday party that we through him. In the Chinese tradition, 60 is when you become an elder. Or at least that's when you're celebrated as such because that's when you start getting the big birthday celebrations thrown by your kids. So I can understand how Dave's starting to confront his own mortality and what that means for the rest of his life.
Dave always has said to me that he feels like being a priest might only be a chapter in the book of his life. But I could feel that his feeling seems to be taking on a deeper resonance. He also said something that has stuck with me since he said it. "The metaphysical no longer holds the same value it used to." I had to ask him to repeat that. Because that has an incredible implication since he's a priest. Dave has been studying Buddhist teachings for a long time. I think that he's on more of an epic spiritual journey than most men of the cloth. I'm sure I have some Christian friends who would consider that statement blasphemy or might not understand the breadth of that statement. But that's deep. He said that he still believes in God and love for others, but the rest is up for grabs.
Up for grabs. Wow. And that made me think of my Dad. I think my Dad felt the same way. Maybe it was the Buddhist teachings that ran through his veins. My Dad didn't subscribe to organized religion. He didn't buy into it. It felt too inauthentic to him. I loved that about him. He didn't use belief as a crutch or as a reason to judge. He wore his opinions about someone on his shirt, plain as day. So when Dave said to me that the rest is up for grabs, I understood that as a spiritual concept. Not as evidence that he had lost his way. Actually, it felt like it was to the contrary. I felt like he was really on a path and is moving on to the next plane.
This was the first conversation I remember having with him where I felt like we talked about him for the most part in a way that wasn't just trying to balance out the conversation. This conversation was about him. And I'm glad we've made that transition. In a way it does feel like the teacher has become the student. And it's about time. I've learned so much from him my entire life, that I'm glad that my age and wisdom can finally be of some use. But I guess I needed to get there.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
What I Wrote This Year
Productivity is really important to me. It's the thing that keeps me hanging on. It gives me a purpose and a reason for living.
Even though my Dad died this year and I no one would fault me for curling up in a ball and napping from July 23-Dec 31st, I couldn't do that. I remember about four weeks after he died, I felt like such a schmo for not feeling motivated to work. Even though I knew I needed to slow down and just be, I felt like I should be doing something. A good friend of mine, a TV exec, said to me, "Listen. You just need to take care of yourself right now. When you're ready to work again, there will be tons of people ready to help you." I knew she was right, but I just felt lazy. Like somehow just being and mourning my Dad made me lazy. Well...he probably would have said that.
While my Dad was sick, work kept me motivated. I remember the week he went into the hospital for the first time, I was doing a workshop of a new play of mine. It was great to have something else to focus on. Then I was teaching in the Fall of 2011. Once the holidays passed, I started working on a new play in February. That lasted through May and then I started on a spec script of GLEE to try and get into some writers programs. I was getting ready to start on something new, something I had an idea for. I had even outlined it. Then he died.
So after about the six week point, I was ready to start again. And I started writing a few drafts of a one hour show I was really passionate about writing about women in the later stages of their lives. I knew I was invested in the subject matter, but I didn't have the show. This was reminding me of a soap set in the art world that I wrote six drafts of and had to put away because it just didn't go anywhere. I was stuck. Then a friend told me to write about something that would be really easy for me to finish in a short amount of time. I had an idea to write about my relationship with The Drummer. I had an idea and I finished that in about two weeks. It was a shitty pilot. But it got some things loose.
I was driving on the 5 and I started thinking about the next great idea. That included the following thought:
"What's the next great idea? "
Really. That's all I thought. I remember a professor years ago suggesting a writing exercise. Whenever you can't think of something to write, just start writing:
"I can't think of what to write. I'm trying to think of something brilliant, but nothing's coming to me. I'm an idiot. Maybe all of my good ideas are behind me at 23 years old. Maybe I'll never do this. My father probably thinks I spend all day jacking off and playing with my asshole. That's true. But I don't want him to think that."
Then the idea pops out! It's just through the sheer act of hitting the keys or thinking about the problem that the solution appears. And that's kind of what happened. It's an idea that is about a subject I know a ton about. It's a family drama. It's a one hour show. It deals with my specific cultural background in a way that I have been trying to write. It's a soap, which is something I've been trying to crack. My problem is that I didn't have the write milieu. I needed a setting. And I found one that felt soap like: big and rich and family drama filled.
Then I went home and started on some ideas. I had a title. The characters came to me pretty easily. This is always a good sign for me.
Then my best friend and I started talking about some ideas for a pilot in case the show she's working on didn't get picked up for a second season (which it just did, coincidentally). But it's an idea we both like and would be willing to go out and pitch.
Then life got busy again. I had family stuff to deal with. And during that time, I finally figured out what the other show should be. It should be a half hour cable show. And I outlined that. Plus, a director and I started planning a mini workshop of the play I wrote this year, scheduled for January.
I got together with my friend Larry and we had a writing session. I wrote the teaser for the one hour. Six pages. Then we went to coffee. Then I went home and wrote the first act. Twenty three pages. I was ready to write more. But then...
A theatre emailed about doing a showcase reading of one of my plays. Then another theatre in LA wanted to see what I had to work on, so they could do a development process. So I decided to give them the same play, so I could work on this play that I've loved for the past year. It's the same play that I was working on when my Dad first went into the hospital. So I had to do rewrites and talk with people about the play.
Finally, I was ready to sit down and finish the rest of this pilot. Larry and I met this past Monday. I wrote Act Two. Then I had therapy on Tuesday and was exhausted for two days. Then I wrote yesterday. Went back to the Weho library, which has been my makeshift office, and wrote the first two scenes of Act Three. I got hungry. Then I went home and ate. Then I went to my friend Susan's house, which I was watching while she was away. No TV. No internet. I wrote the rest of Act Three. Then Act Four. Then I was tired. I came home. It was late. I didn't want to go to sleep before I finished. I wrote Act Five. Thirty four pages for the day. Thank God! It's way too long at 71 pages, but I have something.
Now I'm going to just see a movie: This is 40. And think about reworking the pilot about me and the Drummer. Then I have all of next week to work on the new pilot, while I'm letting this one sit and marinate in my head.
So here's the tally for the year:
New play: Six drafts
Spec of GLEE: Two drafts.
Crappy Pilot (one hour): Three drafts.
Rewrites of Play: Two drafts.
Crappy Pilot (half hour): One draft.
Bloated Pilot: One draft.
Re-draft of crappy pilot (from one hour to half hour): hopefully by the end of 2012.
And...
108 blog posts.
Not bad. I'm hoping to have these two fresh pilots ready to go by February. In February, I start the play writing process all over again and start on a play that will eventually be turned into a musical.
After that, I don't know if I have any ideas. Well, except for the show I was trying to turn into a musical, which actually might be a pretty good soap set in the late 70s...hmmm.
Even though my Dad died this year and I no one would fault me for curling up in a ball and napping from July 23-Dec 31st, I couldn't do that. I remember about four weeks after he died, I felt like such a schmo for not feeling motivated to work. Even though I knew I needed to slow down and just be, I felt like I should be doing something. A good friend of mine, a TV exec, said to me, "Listen. You just need to take care of yourself right now. When you're ready to work again, there will be tons of people ready to help you." I knew she was right, but I just felt lazy. Like somehow just being and mourning my Dad made me lazy. Well...he probably would have said that.
While my Dad was sick, work kept me motivated. I remember the week he went into the hospital for the first time, I was doing a workshop of a new play of mine. It was great to have something else to focus on. Then I was teaching in the Fall of 2011. Once the holidays passed, I started working on a new play in February. That lasted through May and then I started on a spec script of GLEE to try and get into some writers programs. I was getting ready to start on something new, something I had an idea for. I had even outlined it. Then he died.
So after about the six week point, I was ready to start again. And I started writing a few drafts of a one hour show I was really passionate about writing about women in the later stages of their lives. I knew I was invested in the subject matter, but I didn't have the show. This was reminding me of a soap set in the art world that I wrote six drafts of and had to put away because it just didn't go anywhere. I was stuck. Then a friend told me to write about something that would be really easy for me to finish in a short amount of time. I had an idea to write about my relationship with The Drummer. I had an idea and I finished that in about two weeks. It was a shitty pilot. But it got some things loose.
I was driving on the 5 and I started thinking about the next great idea. That included the following thought:
"What's the next great idea? "
Really. That's all I thought. I remember a professor years ago suggesting a writing exercise. Whenever you can't think of something to write, just start writing:
"I can't think of what to write. I'm trying to think of something brilliant, but nothing's coming to me. I'm an idiot. Maybe all of my good ideas are behind me at 23 years old. Maybe I'll never do this. My father probably thinks I spend all day jacking off and playing with my asshole. That's true. But I don't want him to think that."
Then the idea pops out! It's just through the sheer act of hitting the keys or thinking about the problem that the solution appears. And that's kind of what happened. It's an idea that is about a subject I know a ton about. It's a family drama. It's a one hour show. It deals with my specific cultural background in a way that I have been trying to write. It's a soap, which is something I've been trying to crack. My problem is that I didn't have the write milieu. I needed a setting. And I found one that felt soap like: big and rich and family drama filled.
Then I went home and started on some ideas. I had a title. The characters came to me pretty easily. This is always a good sign for me.
Then my best friend and I started talking about some ideas for a pilot in case the show she's working on didn't get picked up for a second season (which it just did, coincidentally). But it's an idea we both like and would be willing to go out and pitch.
Then life got busy again. I had family stuff to deal with. And during that time, I finally figured out what the other show should be. It should be a half hour cable show. And I outlined that. Plus, a director and I started planning a mini workshop of the play I wrote this year, scheduled for January.
I got together with my friend Larry and we had a writing session. I wrote the teaser for the one hour. Six pages. Then we went to coffee. Then I went home and wrote the first act. Twenty three pages. I was ready to write more. But then...
A theatre emailed about doing a showcase reading of one of my plays. Then another theatre in LA wanted to see what I had to work on, so they could do a development process. So I decided to give them the same play, so I could work on this play that I've loved for the past year. It's the same play that I was working on when my Dad first went into the hospital. So I had to do rewrites and talk with people about the play.
Finally, I was ready to sit down and finish the rest of this pilot. Larry and I met this past Monday. I wrote Act Two. Then I had therapy on Tuesday and was exhausted for two days. Then I wrote yesterday. Went back to the Weho library, which has been my makeshift office, and wrote the first two scenes of Act Three. I got hungry. Then I went home and ate. Then I went to my friend Susan's house, which I was watching while she was away. No TV. No internet. I wrote the rest of Act Three. Then Act Four. Then I was tired. I came home. It was late. I didn't want to go to sleep before I finished. I wrote Act Five. Thirty four pages for the day. Thank God! It's way too long at 71 pages, but I have something.
Now I'm going to just see a movie: This is 40. And think about reworking the pilot about me and the Drummer. Then I have all of next week to work on the new pilot, while I'm letting this one sit and marinate in my head.
So here's the tally for the year:
New play: Six drafts
Spec of GLEE: Two drafts.
Crappy Pilot (one hour): Three drafts.
Rewrites of Play: Two drafts.
Crappy Pilot (half hour): One draft.
Bloated Pilot: One draft.
Re-draft of crappy pilot (from one hour to half hour): hopefully by the end of 2012.
And...
108 blog posts.
Not bad. I'm hoping to have these two fresh pilots ready to go by February. In February, I start the play writing process all over again and start on a play that will eventually be turned into a musical.
After that, I don't know if I have any ideas. Well, except for the show I was trying to turn into a musical, which actually might be a pretty good soap set in the late 70s...hmmm.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Life Goes On
As the Christmas holidays approach, I am struck by an overwhelming feeling. My Dad is no longer on this Earth. When he was present on Earth, we didn't really get along. I wanted him to put his arms around me. He wanted to teach me to be a man in the way that he knew how to teach me to be a man. And that was to yell at me and scold me and push me hard.
In most ways he succeeded. I am tough. I am strong. I am smart. I have exceeded my own expectations and certainly his. I think that because I have always been intuitive, I have held myself back. I knew that my father wanted me to succeed, but I didn't want to shame him by besting him. I felt he still needed to feel like the man in the family. And that feeling of not wanting to best powerful men in my life, continued with my ex-boyfriend and one former boss. I was attracted to power and strength. I felt that I could also be strong by osmosis and by proximity. But I did not allow myself to truly understand that I could be strong by my own strength, my own name and my own person.
I felt blocked as a human being because my true destiny is not to stand behind any body. But I was fearful of what it would do to those around me who needed me to make them feel important.
Then I left my relationship. I left my old job. And my father was sick. I spent a year preparing for him to leave. And then he left.
And now I feel like he has given me something that has made me feel proper about standing in the forefront of my life. I don't know if it is permission. I don't know if it's energy. I don't know if it's his strength that he himself was sometimes afraid to express. But I feel him with me. I feel that this assertiveness that I'm feeling is his spirit in me. I have no one to stand in front of me. I have no one left to hide behind. It is just me and for the first time in my life, I am letting the light of the Sun shine fully on every surface of my skin. I am standing there solidly. And I am not backing down. I am living. I am living for myself and for what I want to do. Like never before. Here I stand and here I come to claim what I will present to myself, what I will be and what I will do with every last drop of my talent.
Dad's life has been passed on to me. That is the greatest inheritance. The power of the things that he didn't get to do that I get to do. I truly understand now that it is all available.
Today I had a meeting with the literary manager from a theatre that I've been wanting to work at. He had read my play. We talked about my play that I am so proud of. My child. At the end of our very enlightening discussion of my play, he thanked me for being a good writer. There is no better complement. I didn't just feel it as him thanking me for writing this play. I felt it deeper. Thank you for existing to write this play. Thank you for living. Thank you for your presence. I know that sounds self-congratulatory. But I'm at a place where I am finally able to congratulate myself for creating life, the act of creative procreation.
I can finally take it in. Another theatre in DC did a reading of part of the same play. And the way that actors and the director and the dramaturg were talking about this play. I finally was able to take in all of what they are experiencing with my work. It affects them. I can finally value that value of my work. I don't blow it off anymore.
There's a saying that you tell people the way you want to be treated. I have done that my whole life, but for most of it I have sent the wrong message. Through my own lack of appreciation for my talent, I have told people to underappreciate me. Now I will show people the way I want to be treated because I finally respect myself.
In most ways he succeeded. I am tough. I am strong. I am smart. I have exceeded my own expectations and certainly his. I think that because I have always been intuitive, I have held myself back. I knew that my father wanted me to succeed, but I didn't want to shame him by besting him. I felt he still needed to feel like the man in the family. And that feeling of not wanting to best powerful men in my life, continued with my ex-boyfriend and one former boss. I was attracted to power and strength. I felt that I could also be strong by osmosis and by proximity. But I did not allow myself to truly understand that I could be strong by my own strength, my own name and my own person.
I felt blocked as a human being because my true destiny is not to stand behind any body. But I was fearful of what it would do to those around me who needed me to make them feel important.
Then I left my relationship. I left my old job. And my father was sick. I spent a year preparing for him to leave. And then he left.
And now I feel like he has given me something that has made me feel proper about standing in the forefront of my life. I don't know if it is permission. I don't know if it's energy. I don't know if it's his strength that he himself was sometimes afraid to express. But I feel him with me. I feel that this assertiveness that I'm feeling is his spirit in me. I have no one to stand in front of me. I have no one left to hide behind. It is just me and for the first time in my life, I am letting the light of the Sun shine fully on every surface of my skin. I am standing there solidly. And I am not backing down. I am living. I am living for myself and for what I want to do. Like never before. Here I stand and here I come to claim what I will present to myself, what I will be and what I will do with every last drop of my talent.
Dad's life has been passed on to me. That is the greatest inheritance. The power of the things that he didn't get to do that I get to do. I truly understand now that it is all available.
Today I had a meeting with the literary manager from a theatre that I've been wanting to work at. He had read my play. We talked about my play that I am so proud of. My child. At the end of our very enlightening discussion of my play, he thanked me for being a good writer. There is no better complement. I didn't just feel it as him thanking me for writing this play. I felt it deeper. Thank you for existing to write this play. Thank you for living. Thank you for your presence. I know that sounds self-congratulatory. But I'm at a place where I am finally able to congratulate myself for creating life, the act of creative procreation.
I can finally take it in. Another theatre in DC did a reading of part of the same play. And the way that actors and the director and the dramaturg were talking about this play. I finally was able to take in all of what they are experiencing with my work. It affects them. I can finally value that value of my work. I don't blow it off anymore.
There's a saying that you tell people the way you want to be treated. I have done that my whole life, but for most of it I have sent the wrong message. Through my own lack of appreciation for my talent, I have told people to underappreciate me. Now I will show people the way I want to be treated because I finally respect myself.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
What Not To Do
My life is being affected by now by examples of what I don't want. I've spent a lot of time in my life dealing with situations that are not right for me and I'm trying to exorcise those influences. But what I am also trying to focus on is the lesson. It's not about the crappy shit you're in, but what you can learn from it.
The Drummer and I have a house guest. This guy is in his mid-fifties and a musician. But he's not industrious like The Drummer. He's a guy who has a lot of ideas and things he wants to do, but no means of making them happen. I clearly have plenty of judgment around this. I think some of that judgment comes from my own fear of becoming like that. Yes, I have more in my background that has prepared me for the road ahead and I'm a hard worker. But there's still that pit at the base of my stomach. But that pit pushes me, it doesn't immobilize me. So the lesson there seems to be that I need to keep pushing so that I don't let any of my momentum stop.
The same feeling of discomfort comes from some work I'm doing for a friend of mine who has made a living doing a bunch of freelance jobs. She's a writer like myself. And a really talented one. To make ends meet and to avoid a 9 to 5 job, she does a bunch of things: she ghost writes books, she writes copy for magazines and websites--she basically uses her writing skills to pay the bills. But what she hasn't been able to do as much in recent years is write for herself. She very lovingly passed on some work to me. I'm kind of doing some ghost writing for her because she's got more work than she can take on right now and instead of let some of those jobs go, she's asked me to help her out. And I realized that I really hate it. It's some money coming in. But I also realized that she is putting out a lot more effort than she's getting paid for. It's not working smart. This is another lesson: work hard, but work smart. If I don't want to find myself in a place where I'm not doing the kind of writing I'd like to be doing, I need to keep focused. It's not that it's not noble or necessary to bring home the bacon. It is. She has to work. She's got a family to help support.
The greater lesson is to be conscious of the life you want to create and to never let up on it. Our house guest is a person who has just gone by without a plan and letting things happen to him. Now he has to couch surf and rely on the good will of others. At this point, the good will is running out. Even The Drummer, who is patient beyond belief, has lost patience. You can't just let things happen without having a hand in making things happen. And with my friend, she has made choices for her personal life which affect the work choices she makes. She's got less flexibility because she's got a family. That's not true for everyone, but it has been true for her.
I don't want to be working for people for the rest of my life. I have to create the work for myself and I want people to work for me. That's why writing my own stuff is so important. I do feel a bit of a time clock--for the unemployment to run out. I have been able to survive on what I'm bringing in, but that's not going to be true forever. So I have to make sure that I stick on the plan and that I'm as hard working as I like to think I am. I have to keep going. It is not just about talking about working or all of these wonderful things I want to do. It's the doing.
And right now what I'm involved in: the plays I'm writing and working on theatres with, the pilots I'm writing, the contacts I'm making, the relationships I'm maintaining--all of that is working in the direction of making sure that in as short a time as possible, I'm running my own shows and that I'm also lecturing and teaching. I want all of those things to be a part of my life. And I am doing all of those things, as my therapist would say. Even though I'm not getting paid (or paid much), I am doing those things. I am saying to the universe, this is what I want to be doing.
People know me as a writer.
People know me as a teacher.
People see me as an expert in my field.
I look qualified.
I look authoritative.
And that's because I write, I teach, I give expertise, I am qualified and I have authority in the things I write and teach and talk about.
That is what I want to do. And the things I don't want to do are being shown to me, like a movie screen, because it keeps me focused on what it is that I want to do. Exactly. Because I constantly am reminding myself of what the Prize is so I can keep my Eye on it.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
The Juggler
I've got a lot of balls in the air right now. I'm fine with that.
I have a friend who is always busy. "I'm so busy," she always says. And it winds her up. It also puffs her chest because if she's "busy" then everything seems important. It seems to justify her choices. I've never quite taken that approach. It feels good to have things to do. But I keep most of that stress to myself. And I'm doing things I love so it feels less like work.
For my friend, it all feels like work because it's not directed to her passion. She's doing work for very good reasons. But it has created this sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of always working, but never being fed. Listen, this is someone I adore and respect. But it's not where I want to be.
I'm going to Santa Clara to do a lecture next year in February. I'm also doing one in January about finding representation. But the one in February is about, "What do I want to Do?" We're calling it our pie in the sky lecture. The idea is that if there was no limit, what would you want to do. The funny thing that I've discovered, because I did a mini unplanned version of that lecture last year, is that it's hard for these kids to come up with those big ideas. Because of fear. But it's important to ask for what you want.
I'm living a life right now that doesn't have a lot of financial reward. But it's the life I want to be living. I'm with a great guy. We have fun together. We make it work. I'm writing every day. I am able to keep an eye on my Mom and be around her. I travel a bit. I'm connected to my students at Santa Clara through guest lectures. I'm working on plays. I'm working on a pilot. I have made choices to do or not do things based on where I want my life to be.
I don't want to be a parent (right now or ever) because I know that if I'm a parent my priorities change. I have to make choices for that person. I'll be all in. I only want to make choices for myself.
So I don't feel burdened by how busy I am. I'm not tortured. I'm not stressed. I'm not freaking out on other people. I'm just busy. And I just put one foot in front of the other. That's the way I have to do it. And I have a lot to keep my busy and excited and interested. There's a lot of variety in my life right now and that's the way I like it.
I have a friend who is always busy. "I'm so busy," she always says. And it winds her up. It also puffs her chest because if she's "busy" then everything seems important. It seems to justify her choices. I've never quite taken that approach. It feels good to have things to do. But I keep most of that stress to myself. And I'm doing things I love so it feels less like work.
For my friend, it all feels like work because it's not directed to her passion. She's doing work for very good reasons. But it has created this sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of always working, but never being fed. Listen, this is someone I adore and respect. But it's not where I want to be.
I'm going to Santa Clara to do a lecture next year in February. I'm also doing one in January about finding representation. But the one in February is about, "What do I want to Do?" We're calling it our pie in the sky lecture. The idea is that if there was no limit, what would you want to do. The funny thing that I've discovered, because I did a mini unplanned version of that lecture last year, is that it's hard for these kids to come up with those big ideas. Because of fear. But it's important to ask for what you want.
I'm living a life right now that doesn't have a lot of financial reward. But it's the life I want to be living. I'm with a great guy. We have fun together. We make it work. I'm writing every day. I am able to keep an eye on my Mom and be around her. I travel a bit. I'm connected to my students at Santa Clara through guest lectures. I'm working on plays. I'm working on a pilot. I have made choices to do or not do things based on where I want my life to be.
I don't want to be a parent (right now or ever) because I know that if I'm a parent my priorities change. I have to make choices for that person. I'll be all in. I only want to make choices for myself.
So I don't feel burdened by how busy I am. I'm not tortured. I'm not stressed. I'm not freaking out on other people. I'm just busy. And I just put one foot in front of the other. That's the way I have to do it. And I have a lot to keep my busy and excited and interested. There's a lot of variety in my life right now and that's the way I like it.
The Things I Talk About Now
Theatre.
My plays.
Books.
Actors.
Characters.
Story.
Career.
Passion.
Music.
Love.
Ideas.
These are the things I talk about now. It goes back to something my therapist said last week. "You are gainfully employed." I was focusing on having to make some money. To get back on the hamster wheel, as it were.
Two years ago I talked about:
My boss' schedule.
Agents.
Managers.
Executives.
Lunches.
Drinks.
Scheduling.
My boyfriend (at the time).
Parties.
Dinners.
I was empty. Even though our lives seemed full on the outside. We had a lot of things to fill our lives, but our lives were empty. And I was living someone else's life, so I was filling my emptiness with even more emptiness and I was never satisfied.
Then all of these changes happened and I broke free of all of that. Then my Dad got sick last year and all I would talk about was:
Hospitals.
Pills.
Doctors.
Solutions.
Food.
Diet.
Death.
Mom.
Dad.
Then my Dad died and that part of my life was over. During the past four and a half months, I have slowly come back to myself and to a rhythm of life that truly seems my own. After the break up, I was going through transition. Then I switched jobs. Then I had that job to focus on and making my bosses happy. I was still talking to agents and managers and other people's ideas. Then that job ended. And I had exactly two days of nothingness. Then my Dad went into the hospital and the next year of my life was primarily focused in a different direction. Then in July that period ended.
It's funny because I've got a lot I'm working on now. It's great to be occupied. But about a month after Dad died, I felt totally empty inside. I felt like I didn't have anything that was motivating me to write the things I knew I wanted to. One thing I don't have is patience. Because that lasted maybe another month and now I'm writing my tail off. I did a lot of writing this year. And we always focus on the end result. What do I have to show for it? Well, I had a lot of things happen to me. And I sat down to write more than I ever had. So that should make me feel happy and accomplished. The end result will come. The depth and quality of the things I'm writing about is deeper than ever. When I sit down to write, I write with a groundedness.
Everyone told me that after I taught I would be a better writer. Again, no patience. I thought that would happen right away. My last day of teaching was on December 1st of last year. I fully expected by December 2nd that I would be a genius. It has taken a full year. It has taken death. It has taken change. It has taken so much to make my writing better. And now I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid of being changed. Or being moved around. Of taking a 180. Life has made so many loops in the past two years that I'm used to the feeling in the pit of my stomach from being turned upside down. I am great with it. I love it. It's now what I thrive on.
I used to thrive on standing on solid ground at any cost. At the cost of risk. Now I'm okay with being turned upside down and I just keep going.
But I look at those three lists of the things that I talk about now and I am so grateful for all of it. I am a better writer now. But it's not because any of it has been easy.
My plays.
Books.
Actors.
Characters.
Story.
Career.
Passion.
Music.
Love.
Ideas.
These are the things I talk about now. It goes back to something my therapist said last week. "You are gainfully employed." I was focusing on having to make some money. To get back on the hamster wheel, as it were.
Two years ago I talked about:
My boss' schedule.
Agents.
Managers.
Executives.
Lunches.
Drinks.
Scheduling.
My boyfriend (at the time).
Parties.
Dinners.
I was empty. Even though our lives seemed full on the outside. We had a lot of things to fill our lives, but our lives were empty. And I was living someone else's life, so I was filling my emptiness with even more emptiness and I was never satisfied.
Then all of these changes happened and I broke free of all of that. Then my Dad got sick last year and all I would talk about was:
Hospitals.
Pills.
Doctors.
Solutions.
Food.
Diet.
Death.
Mom.
Dad.
Then my Dad died and that part of my life was over. During the past four and a half months, I have slowly come back to myself and to a rhythm of life that truly seems my own. After the break up, I was going through transition. Then I switched jobs. Then I had that job to focus on and making my bosses happy. I was still talking to agents and managers and other people's ideas. Then that job ended. And I had exactly two days of nothingness. Then my Dad went into the hospital and the next year of my life was primarily focused in a different direction. Then in July that period ended.
It's funny because I've got a lot I'm working on now. It's great to be occupied. But about a month after Dad died, I felt totally empty inside. I felt like I didn't have anything that was motivating me to write the things I knew I wanted to. One thing I don't have is patience. Because that lasted maybe another month and now I'm writing my tail off. I did a lot of writing this year. And we always focus on the end result. What do I have to show for it? Well, I had a lot of things happen to me. And I sat down to write more than I ever had. So that should make me feel happy and accomplished. The end result will come. The depth and quality of the things I'm writing about is deeper than ever. When I sit down to write, I write with a groundedness.
Everyone told me that after I taught I would be a better writer. Again, no patience. I thought that would happen right away. My last day of teaching was on December 1st of last year. I fully expected by December 2nd that I would be a genius. It has taken a full year. It has taken death. It has taken change. It has taken so much to make my writing better. And now I'm not afraid of it. I'm not afraid of being changed. Or being moved around. Of taking a 180. Life has made so many loops in the past two years that I'm used to the feeling in the pit of my stomach from being turned upside down. I am great with it. I love it. It's now what I thrive on.
I used to thrive on standing on solid ground at any cost. At the cost of risk. Now I'm okay with being turned upside down and I just keep going.
But I look at those three lists of the things that I talk about now and I am so grateful for all of it. I am a better writer now. But it's not because any of it has been easy.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Hitting Reset
There's a lot going on right now.
I'm supposed to be rewriting a play that I'm having a partial reading of in Washington DC next weekend. But of course I'm getting wrapped up in the research and it being totally amazing.
I have a workshop that I'm doing in January of another play that I wrote this year.
January's going to be really busy actually.
I have the workshop, then I go to Portland to celebrate my Mom and my nephew's birthdays. Then I'll see friends for a few days.
Then off to Santa Clara to guest lecture on agents and managers.
Then back there in February to do a special guest lecture on life after college.
Then Hawaii in March for 10-14 days.
I was talking to The Drummer about that trip. We're trying to figure out how long we're staying. My Mom can only be there a week. My Brother and his family are going to stay an extra week. I'm not working right now, so I'm feeling extra nervous about money. I'm freelancing a bit. I'm waiting on my unemployment extension to come through. Money issues always weight heavy on me. I have some money from my Dad that I inherited, but I felt that it'd be wasteful to depend on that, even for a little while.
Then my boyfriend said something supportive. He said, "That's what it's there for." And this isn't a guy who is frivolous. He's a guy who has worked for everything. He's very frugal. But he said to me that maybe this is a reset. Maybe I need this Hawaii trip to set me up for what the rest of my life is going to be about. Maybe it will give me some rest and some enjoyment with my family so I am ready to tackle what comes next.
I just listened. In that moment I was so happy that he is my man. I told him that too. I said that's what I love about him. He's so supportive and open and truthful and wise. I'm going to listen to him. Against my usual judgment. Against all of the things I was taught as a kid. Despite the noise that tells me that I'm being lazy and that I need to get right to work.
I realized in that moment that my weirdness and embarrassment at not working has a lot to do with my own self criticism. That I take things that my boyfriend and other people say and I add a lot of judgment to it. Because...because of a lot of things: Dad, life, how hard I am on myself. I make myself suffer more than I need to. Because that's what I was taught.
Just when I thought I had exhausted the amount of LETTING GO I need to do. There's more.
I'm supposed to be rewriting a play that I'm having a partial reading of in Washington DC next weekend. But of course I'm getting wrapped up in the research and it being totally amazing.
I have a workshop that I'm doing in January of another play that I wrote this year.
January's going to be really busy actually.
I have the workshop, then I go to Portland to celebrate my Mom and my nephew's birthdays. Then I'll see friends for a few days.
Then off to Santa Clara to guest lecture on agents and managers.
Then back there in February to do a special guest lecture on life after college.
Then Hawaii in March for 10-14 days.
I was talking to The Drummer about that trip. We're trying to figure out how long we're staying. My Mom can only be there a week. My Brother and his family are going to stay an extra week. I'm not working right now, so I'm feeling extra nervous about money. I'm freelancing a bit. I'm waiting on my unemployment extension to come through. Money issues always weight heavy on me. I have some money from my Dad that I inherited, but I felt that it'd be wasteful to depend on that, even for a little while.
Then my boyfriend said something supportive. He said, "That's what it's there for." And this isn't a guy who is frivolous. He's a guy who has worked for everything. He's very frugal. But he said to me that maybe this is a reset. Maybe I need this Hawaii trip to set me up for what the rest of my life is going to be about. Maybe it will give me some rest and some enjoyment with my family so I am ready to tackle what comes next.
I just listened. In that moment I was so happy that he is my man. I told him that too. I said that's what I love about him. He's so supportive and open and truthful and wise. I'm going to listen to him. Against my usual judgment. Against all of the things I was taught as a kid. Despite the noise that tells me that I'm being lazy and that I need to get right to work.
I realized in that moment that my weirdness and embarrassment at not working has a lot to do with my own self criticism. That I take things that my boyfriend and other people say and I add a lot of judgment to it. Because...because of a lot of things: Dad, life, how hard I am on myself. I make myself suffer more than I need to. Because that's what I was taught.
Just when I thought I had exhausted the amount of LETTING GO I need to do. There's more.
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