My American Dream

We're on the verge of a precipice.

Both at the apex of one mountain and the foot of the other.

The end of the valley and the beginning of the climb.

I've been auditioning again. I've been advertising my presence again. Like the early morning bulb of a train that meets the horizon, the light has come back. And with it, the echoes of opportunity.

Took awhile. Had to get through an earthquake, a hurricane, a recession, poorly paying survival jobs, long travels, and a slump. Had to swallow a lot of pride. Had to learn an awful lot. Had to make a good share of mistakes.

I couldn't tell if it's because I've payed my dues or that I'm just dumb lucky. But it appears I will get another shot.

Amazing how life goes on. How the first bird gets the worm...even if it's most likely that crazy bug-eyed feathered fiend was there the night before, watching. Or that the other fowl crossing the road needed courage because there really was no reward on the other side.

Sheer persistence and love of the pursuit: even in failure. When your reward no longer depends upon success, when your self-esteem has nothing to do with a popularity contest, you will be a force. That is why I'm still here. And that's why I'm still writing. It's also the reason why I'm being overly-dramatic. Because I'm dealing with feelings so big it's only natural to exaggerate.

I saw this movie for the first time a few months ago. I think when you take into account the probability of ever being a paid, liked, and respected (you should consider yourself in good stead to be any one of these qualities) actor, writer, director, producer, stage manager, stage crew, or friend of the arts, understand that the ones who stay, hopefully, aren't doing this just because they're looking to obtain something that will assure them they've 'made it'. I'd bet everything in my bank account that they believe they already have.

So, today, no matter what happens, I feel rich. I feel successful. I feel like I've climbed Mount Everest and I'm still on this couch. Where I'm writing to you right now. THAT'S the gloriously unrefined charm of creative optimism: blind and relentless. The survivors have it. The best at least emulate it. Or they're completely miserable (angry energy also seems to go far, but remember how Mr. Montana turned out?). And the rest of us struggle like mercury in the thermometer, hoping for a cooling rationale against a red roaring hunger to climb.

My life got dark. Like so many others out there, I've had to scratch and claw my way to September 2011. And the way I've made my march has been based upon the fact that I don't give a Hoover Dam about whether I obtain an accolade, a pat on the back, or some flimsy paycheck. Or whether or not you think I'm easy to deal with, or my writing's any good, or that I'm with the in-crowd with the big names, or can rock it with a Black Swan's grace. In the end, my choice is all that matters and where I am at any given moment ought to be enough for a celebration. Because even when I take judgement seriously, even when I have my moments of weakness, I'm still going to be here. Waiting for the next thing. Because this journey is the only reason for me why it's worth being here in the first place.

And I friggin' love it.