Here and Now

Enough of this bullshit.

I've been thinking a lot lately about a big life change.  I'm applying soon to live by myself in a low-income studio.  Is that the change I need?

There are a lot of tough questions, that are actually simple, running through my mind these days.  I am unfulfilled.  That's okay.  What will bring fulfilment?  What does my fulfilled life look like.  Let's take a stab at that.

Alone Time: I value it very much as a time to have thoughts like this.  To ponder life, to meditate, to try things out.  What would I do if I had more alone time?  If I had my own apartment?  I'd watch tons more inspiring TV shows and movies.  Ok, not bad.  I'd read more.  I'd read more philosophy, poetry.  What is it that wants me to be alone though?  What does that mean to me?  Alone and not lonely.  Loneliness is the fear that goes with living alone.  Here, as I am, I have people near me... right next to me... who I love.  They're my support. But everyone must strike out on their own at some point.  Heed the call.  Living alone would streamline my life.  I picture myself buzzing out to this class, this rehearsal, this meeting with a friend.  Doing yoga in the peace and quiet.  Finding peace and quiet.  The spot where I can access my soul. 

Creativity: Forever, I've been Creatively Jake.  It's a web site I came up with to put online my creative writing and poetry from early high school.  I've always, always, always viewed myself as creative, with a wacky imagination.  I'm blessed now to generally not have to squash it, thanks largely to my roommates.  I remember my 5th grade teacher telling my parents and I that I was clearly a gifted writer.  I'll never forget that.  I was sitting on a couch in her class during a Parent-Teacher night, and that's what she had to say.  I remember in 2nd grade writing a story about a secret door in my house.  I remember writing out plot points around that time too for a story called "The Secret Life of Gurkinheimer."  He was a little guy.  Plot points were stuff like "surfs across the kitchen sink on a stick of gum" and "swings on a pull-switch light like tarzan."  I was fascinated with "The Incredible Machine," which I played maybed once on the computer, then tried to duplicate in my life.  I made a domino-like thing out of cassette tapes one Saturday morning.  Saturday mornings were wonderful times of creativity by myself.  Maybe that's what I miss.  The time to be creative by myself.  I remember doodling a drawing of an entire page of a marble chute.  One of those courses that a marble could run down and do loop-the-loops.  I remember watching Milo and Otis by myself early on a Saturday morning for the hundredth time, and crying when, for the first time, I realized there was a sad part in the movie where they thought they'd never see each other again.  I remember in high school creative writing class, being amongst guys who all wanted to write the wackiest creative story that made everyone else laugh.  We were writing for each other, and applauding each other's efforts.  It was incredible that it was school.  It was fun.  It was being allowed to be ourselves and make wacky shit.  I remember the stirring feeling of being a a concert with people from all over the state, being part of a beautiful song, led my a conductor who cared about us and loved this music just like we did.  Fuck the song, it didn't matter what it was, it mattered that our souls were part of it.  And they were.  The music soared.  It wasn't about the notes and our parts and our blend, but because of our intensive practice, that stuff was all in place.  It was about doing him proud, and being there for each other.  I remember laughing until my belly hurt, driving around being crazy with my friends the night before we went off to college.  Wearing stupid glasses, chasing possums, being wild and fun and funny.  I remember laughing at my friends when they tried to do something hilarious and clever in school and get away with it. 

Fantasy Worlds: I love them.  I saw The Hobbit and was completely captured by it, maybe even more so than the Lord of the Rings series.  It was different, more child-like, and more wondrous and clever.  That feeling of wonder.  It felt like a gift given to me by Peter Jackson.  It was real.

A House in Nature: I need the sunshine.  I need the light.  In college, I had a period of photography where I would love to be outside by myself in the stillness of winter when the sun was setting and making everything red or gold.  I remember boldly wandering into a stream in the back yard, just over the line on someone else's property.  Barefoot, feeling the water.  My sister was there.  We were something like 8 years old, daring to go by ourselves, though my mom didn't know.  I remember the feeling of the night time when my friends and I would sneak out and walk the Auburn streets.  When things were still, and we felt free.  And I felt free and brave.  I remember walking in the dark when I was a kid.  I was afraid of the dark for a while, to where I couldn't sleep because my mind would create shadows that were watching me out the window.  I was scared until one day when I ventured out into the pitch darkness of my house.  Then suddenly the night took on a magic.  There was a mattress in my living room, for some reason, that I purposely fell onto in the dark.  It was such a liberating free fall.  I looked out the window, a twinge of fear.  I stood on the edge of fear and took a quiet step forward.  Then I wasn't afraid.  Then I owned the night.  It was mine.  Being in the stillness of nature, in the dark sometimes, resonated with me, even then.  Now, I welcome it.  I was on a road trip once with all of my friends from home.  One night I slipped away and wandered down a beaten path in a place that couldn’t be more foreign to me.  We were somewhere in the southwest, where there was desert brush near us, and water nearby too.  I was amazed at how the moon lit up the night, and couldn't stop walking, further and further away from camp.  Thinking of it now, I'm surprised I didn't step on a snake or scorpion.

Simple House: I want my possessions to be sparse and important to me.  I want my space to be organic.  I want wooden carved things, and honest to god craftsmanship, simple though it may be.

Good Friends and True: I want kinship.  I have it now, especially with those I live with.  I want that feeling of kinsip, brotherhood, family, support to survive.  No matter the petty circumstances of life.  I look at my friend Pat, who is 20 years my senior.  He delights in his friends.  I can just tell when he tells a story about "my friend so and so.." that there is love there.  I want that.  Without a trace or remorse or sadness for the circumstances of life putting distance or time between them.

I've gotten to the point of distraction.  I'm lucky.  I often don't have focus, and get distracted.  I find myself at the facebook page without even trying.  What that tells me is that I'm avoiding something.  My mind EXPERTLY avoids.  It's been doing it a lot lately.  Where I'll be flying high on some whim, and I'll find myself doing something else instead.  Or suddenly becoming concerned about something that deep down I know is not currently important.  Or when I've committed to working on a task, my mind will direct and turn me away from it.  Why?  There's a resistance to becoming possibly great.  A resistance to becoming who I really am, and wearing it on my sleeve.  My mind diverts the light of my soul so as to test it.  I read an interview with Peter Jackson recently and he said something like "I believe that if you're really a filmmaker, you'll make films.  You'll take your ipod and record a feature-length motion picture with army men.  You don't need me to tell you how.  You'll get rejected by others, but still make your films.  IF you're a filmmaker."  That's beautiful.  And true.  If you're a creator, you will create.  No matter what.  Where does that leave me?  My brain has this built in distractibility because it has little interest in things that don't engage it.  It is engaged, when my soul is engaged.  It is also engaged when drama arises.  That's tense engagement.  I welcome it.  I learn from it.  But I don't like it.  When I find myself doing things OTHER than what I set out to do, or where my passion points to, it's because my mind is testing me.  "Oh you think you want to be an actor huh?  Try to work on a monologue.  Try to memorize lines.  Try to find a class to take.  I'll be here to push it away from out, until you feel overwhelmed."  And, inevitably, I do.  I feel overwhelmed.  But it's an illusion.  Because the show's still gone up, and I've still lived on stage, and still learned my lines, and still taken classes.  Even after I feel overwhelmed, there's a light on the other side.  So I am thankful for this distractability.

This little light of mine.  I'm gonna let it shine.