I am driving to a meeting on a fresh Monday morning, anticipating corporate futility. Yes, futility! Think about it: your job will never, ever be done. Never finished. Makes me itchy, just putting it out there in the collective consciousness. Here, my brain wanders. It's been a while since I've done this, so let’s start the deep dig.
Recently, I have taken up longer rides on my bicycle, so my legs remain noodles, but my insides crackle. Like a soldier carrying a backpack of TNT, I am climbing deliberately toward a steep incline representing a landmark birthday, against my will. Nevertheless, I crawl.
This past year represented a cautionary prescription of cynicism, defeat, and undeserved revival. I have met some fantastic characters in my life over the past year, and they give me hope. The unexpected way they appeared, really makes me weary—I didn’t see them coming! I had ups and downs over the year, to be sure, but new people present a scenario I didn’t expect. For years, my surrounding cast of characters remained relatively the same. Such a surprise—this aloof doof doesn’t deserve fresh souls.
I really don’t know how to take on extra people in my world. Throughout my days, I have had little trouble making the difficult decision, taking on the adventurous choice, or foolishly stoking youthful passion. That’s why it’s so surprising I find myself perfectly comfortable with being alone.
I met many people over the years, shaken hands with thousands of strangers who knew me much more than I knew them. Having a job being a public figure for so many years puts you in a very narrow spotlight; you can see shapes and faces, but you really want to look directly—unashamedly—into another set of welcoming eyes, in the end. Imagine always being expected, but never known.
I made lots of friends from high school to fine arts school and Master’s conservatories. Most of them have fallen away, because—let’s be honest—we were all competitive. It made sense, all the artistic and social carnage. The ones who stuck around your orbit were the ones you were proud to associate with, the ones you were happy to know. Their iron sharpened your iron. In the end, they stand as living references for your character, and not your resume. All the great memories confirm I had talented, brilliant colleagues in those days, and of course, they had impeccable taste.
Many friends I’ve made this side of the turn-of-the-century are based on my public persona. That’s weird to me. It blows my mind many of them still want to hang out. What’s the problem—I should just go with the flow and not overthink this, right? Go out, accept the date, and enjoy myself. Who knows, I may come away with a nice experience, every once in a while. Still, it feels fake.
I just had a lady—a window installer—stop me at the gas station, accusing me of hiding, of all things. “I see you growing the facial hair, and wearing those glasses. You don’t fool me. And you don’t look healthy, losing the weight. You look sick, and old.” And, she was saying it in a very friendly manner, if you can imagine.
That’s the one thing you develop over the years, a stillness that coaxes awkward truth from people, when they meet someone popular or attractive (you good looking people know what I’m talking about, if you haven’t already developed it). If you have the patience, you can get full stories from folks: their opinions, even their secrets. Yeah, a lot of the stuff you really don’t want to know. This isn’t hiding, like that gas station gal was asserting—It’s like I’m preserving a personal virginity for the right mate. The right vibe.
I am perceptive enough to know, however, many of my personal heroes have always been introverts. Closed off. They took the easy road of no risk. I mean, let’s face it, the less people you know, the less you care about. The less you’re able to disappoint them. The less they’re able to hurt you. It was a very reasonable way to live. You just give people a smile, and they leave you alone.
Not anymore.
On a recent bike ride, I actually stopped to chat with an older gentleman in the middle of a flowery field, about how chilly the open space felt, in the early morning. The sunrise was gray, with a hint of amber, it rained the evening before. The air still smelled wet. I made some statement about being surprised he didn’t smell my sweat. The guy just smiled, and giggled, “of course kid—you’re working out.”
It’s that simple. A passing conversation made my day. It made my week, in fact. And it wasn’t difficult to do. At the gas station, my conversation with the window lady ended up with us exchanging cards; turns out she is a member of a gaming group, and they’re always looking to learn new games.
It’s now Friday morning, just after midnight. I’m still tired, but I’m trying to complete my thesis. Bring this rambling around in a perfect loop. It’s always the toughest part of the process—stick the landing. I have always run away from new relationships. I was quite comfortable in my own head. The only way I would ever share myself was through acting, and that was easy because I could always be someone else. But now, I’m at the stage of my career where I’m truly beginning to understand I was never hired because of my roles. They wanted me.
That’s terrifying.
In order to undertake this endeavor, I need to surround myself with kind, creative people who will have my back, as much as I will have theirs. We need this fellowship, because this world can be incredibly rough. I need these people in my life. I’ve gone too far, leaning only on myself. Imagine the nice, simple conversations I wasted over the years. As I have often stated at the end of many years’ worth of cover letters, “I look forward to presenting my qualifications—and myself—to you in person.”
I look to honest kinship.
I hope you can help.
