BE STILL
"TIME TICKS BY; WE GROW OLDER. BEFORE WE KNOW IT, TOO MUCH TIME HAS PASSED AND WE'VE MISSED THE CHANCE TO HAVE OTHER PEOPLE HURT US. TO A YOUNGER ME, THIS SOUNDED LIKE LUCK; TO AN OLDER ME, THIS SOUNDS LIKE A QUIET TRAGEDY." -"LIFE AFTER GOD" DOUGLAS COUPLAND
The addage my father shared with me, when I was debating whether or not to live and work in Amsterdam at the ripe old age of 22 (um, nope-not in a Red Light window, and not in a "kofeeshop";-)), was: "When you're young, you have the time and energy, but not the money. When you're middle-aged, you have the money and the energy, but not the time. And when you're old, you have the money and the time, but not the energy." The lesson I gleaned from these words was that when one is faced with a decision on where to purposefully invest life...on whether or not to embark on "great adventures"...or to spend time with friends and loved ones...to open up in vulnerability to the awesome love and heartaches of this world...is that there is always an excuse to keep one's self firmly anchored in the cesspool of stagnancy and safety.
I currently swim in that murky middle ground somewhere between true youth and middle-age-most of my friends have settled down, birthed bundles of diaper-clad joy, have purchased homes...this has not been the case in my life as of yet, and although I sometimes bemoan that, it has allowed me to make choices and take risks that would otherwise be unavailable to me. But the one truth that keeps us collectively wringing our hands is that we all find that time is a great eater of forgotten promises, unmet goals, blinking and finding that another year has passed--time is NOT our friend and does not extend itself based on our wishes.
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I arrived in Los Angeles 13 weeks ago. Since then, I've experienced things great enough to awaken an urge to shout my "barbaric yawp from the mountaintops" and things difficult enough to make me want to hit myself with a two-by-four--just to dull the inner angst. But so many of the goals I felt confident I could tackle in that period still sit dusty on a shelf, and it feels as if I just unpacked, laid down for one restless sleep, and awoke to find myself in another season, another year. And I wonder how much more I could connect, and LIVE, and accomplish if I stopped allowing that hound dog of time to nip at my heels-if I turned and embraced it, and let it lick me in the face instead? We are made to learn our greatest lessons when we slow down...But I act as if the past does not exist, and like the future is still limitless-by hurrying and filling my days with fluff rather than substance, by saving resolution of the hard issues until...later, by not allowing myself to "be still". I guess this isn't as much of a lesson as it is a question I'm currently posing to myself...
LESSON 2- SIT BACK AND RELAX--ENJOY THE SHOW
One of the coolest things about living in this creative genius of a city is the "mellow" attitude that exudes from all corners and from all types of people. Whether or not it's pretense, the boulders of stress almost visualized on the citizens of East Coast cities, the purposeful isolated direction found in passers-by in the cities of the Rocky Mountains-none of that exists here. People are friendly and easy-going, and at least attempt to advertise that they sit back and enjoy the view once in awhile. Sure there's inner turmoil behind many of those masks, but the collective attitude of friendly mellowness is pervasive.When I interned out here some odd years ago (more than two, less than twenty;-)), and lived in an apartment enclave known as a "mecca" for Young Hollywood, I found many of the "industry-types" that I met to be off-putting and insincere and full of personal agendas. I am not sure if it is just that I am older, and much more confident in who I am (although, overflowing with self-esteem? Yeah, not so much:-)), or if the culture here has shifted. But, I do not find that to be the case this go around. In the plethora of actors and directors and writers and musicians and producers whom I've met, I find down-to-earth, phenomenal souls who share my creative heartbeat. I've left each of these encounters feeling better for it, and it inspires me to keep creating-even in those moments of self-doubt. It makes me realize that whether I stay here, or journey back to Colorado there is absolutely NOTHING that I'd rather do, nothing else that makes me feel more as if I, individually, can make a difference in this world. And although I am impassioned about many things, a life without the ability to create an artistic output is not a life that I ever again want to live.
LESSON 3-THE HOMELESS TAKE DEBIT, AND I KNOW HOW THE "YEAH, YEAH, YEAHS" GOT THEIR NAME
I'm not sure if homelessness is any more pervasive here then it is elsewhere, but it is just as heartbreaking. Thus, I always feel my heart tighten and my thoughts jumble when I encounter a homeless person...anywhere. I'm never sure what to do--I know money, even for those who will not spend it on booze or drugs, is never the answer. And, it's easy for me to say "no", as I am sorely lacking in that department as well. However, I know that I am called to love these people, and acknowledge that we are all a part of the same sweaty, broken, heaping, beautiful mess called humanity. So, when I saw the same scruffy, toothless man begging for change at a highway on-ramp for three consecutive days, I decided that if he approached my car, I needed to acknowledge him-to express my sympathy for his plight, and to tell him that I'd pray for him. He did, and I did. As I spoke with him, I prayed that God would somehow use my words...to speak love...as a salve. Yup, I felt so f-ing holy while those golden words flowed from my lips. I told him that I did not have any money for him, however. "That's cool," he replied through cracked lips. "Um, I'll actually be here for another five hours, if you wanna go to an ATM and then come back." I felt holy when I told him to get a job, too (I didn't actually say this, but I thought it and other nasty, judgemental things). The homeless are more aggressive here. Again, not so much a lesson as an observation, I suppose.
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* When one thinks of Southern California venacular, the most immediate thoughts are of blonde, vaccuous surfers who spew the word "brah", and sometimes "bro", with intensity. This is rare, and for the most part, the So Calians speak like the rest of us ("the" highway names notwithstanding). However, the award for "Most overused phrase in the Southern Californian Venacular goes to..." 'Yeah, yeah, yeah'". As in, "'Hey, do you know Colton?' 'Oh, Colton! Yeah, yeah, yeah'," or, "'David, are you gonna eat the rest of that sandwich?' 'Huh? Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah." One "yeah" would suffice, and no one can tell me why the three are forever linked...why not two? Or perhaps, four?
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A disjointed departure for this blog to say the least, but it is where my jumbled mind and fingers led...As always, thanks for reading, and again, any and all feedback is welcome.
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