Home I am. Original Home.
I was about to say it was my first time traveling in a while but that would not be true. Since my 6 week whirlwind at the O'Neill, I have visited NYC twice (once directly after and once in October following a whirlwind romance), and popped my Las Vegas cherry in a 24 hour trip in November to see the Pacquiao/Cotto fight @ MGM. Perhaps traveling has become so typical it no longer registers as different than not. However. I've started to get antsy...looking for another whirlwind to carry me away.
But soon I've decided it cannot be. I have to stay. I have to settle. Somewhere. For once. I have to see what grows when my roots aren't being torn up every 6 months (or less). So. I'm only applying for winds that pick up in December.
I am home for two reasons.
1 - My grandmother has turned 88. Born January 28, 1922. Hopefully it means I have a lot of life ahead of me. She has a long story of strength & sadness. Luckily the strength is turning 88 too, while the sadness died long ago. (or so it seems, I clearly have no direct insight into her psyche, but she's never appeared sad to me. only spry. and strong.)
2 - To speak at the benefit for the Bellevue Youth Theatre where I was raised (more or less). I was asked because, apparently, I am "successful". I find this word quite hard to come to terms with. I, myself, would look at me and say. Not successful. But that is based entirely upon what I define the word as. Unfortunately the first thing that comes to my mind is money. Which I do not have. My bank accounts currently hold a combined value of $34.47. Success to me, also unfortunately, means notoriety. Being known in your field. For your work and contribution. My hold here is if given a monetary value would be fairly equivalent to my financial holdings. The quality would be next. And yes, I will give a point or two my way for that. But "successful" enough to fly home and speak to a crowd paying $150 a plate about how my experiences at BYT led me to my success?
I WAS GONNA BE A DOCTOR.
I was going to be a doctor until I was 16 years old and was given my first lead. Doris Walker in the musical version of A Miracle on 34th Street. Weeks of rehearsal and the night before opening the director walks up to me and places his hand on my shoulder, in an almost father like gesture, and said,
"You are a cold. dead. fish. Figure it out or you're going to ruin the show."
That night, a chilly, wet (having rained but not currently raining), lonely night I sat on a swing in a nearby park and cried.
And by the time I left, I had figured it out.
And there went my medical career.
That I'd been planning since the age of 6 when I gave up on paleontology after discovering the Brontosaurs no longer existed.
Since 16. I haven't stopped figuring it out. And I'll never want to.
Explained:
The feeling of figuring out how to create an artistic moment that breaches time/space and crosses into our reality for that moment without really existing as either you or the other while allowing them (the audience) to experience it too, is worth every rejection, every unpaid bill, every person who doesn't know your name. It may not be saving lives in the literal sense but it does something that has lasted just as long as us. You diagnose the flu once, more or less figuring it out will be the same every time. But to figure out how to fix the colddeadfish (or other like) flues we run into, the diagnosis & treatment will never be the same. And I love that.
I love it.
Maybe that's success.
Knowing what you want to do and doing it, no matter who knows who you are nor how much money you make.
As long as I am happy, I am a success.
....
Yeah.
Right.
.....
But. That's not stopping me from doing it everyday.
So maybe it is.
I'll go ask Grandma.
