I’ve often posited that I was born into the wrong time. Surely I would have been more at home among pirates, or the early days of Hollywood, or even cruising around the county in the Further, official bus of the beatnik generation. I imagined myself a swashbuckling, charming anti-hero, which I have lived up to in some ways, including a couple of arrests. But what about that makes me any different than the men and women that comprise our sizable prison population. For the record, I do believe that the criminal justice system is in need of reform.
So these past eras of excess and adventure, now long gone. As I sat idly by, lamenting living in such times, I did little to improve the landscape. What had I done, or contributed that was truly great? Nothing. What are you doing to define the golden age of our years on this Earth? Are you creating, destroying; are you even participating?
The legacies that those in the past have left us should inspire us to create legacies ourselves. Build it, paint, sculpt, or do it. Life is rich when we can enrich, and a full life is, by definition, one of abundance. If we were to look at the world in eyes that do not see what is broken, but what could be improved upon; what piece of ourself we wanted to give. Imagine never meeting a stranger, or being at home anywhere you were. Imagine what could be.
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Be Not Discouraged
While on a cruise ship (I just went cruising in the Caribbean this past week), I sat on deck and wrote a quick poem.
Sitting on a pool deck, Several stories above the sea. Sailing is different now.
This isn’t the Union of Merchant Sailors, Nor pirates who plunder or rape, Or months’ endless without respite.
A sea cruise, a pleasure cruise; Not the journey of discovery. Not what Poseidon had in mind.
The world has gotten smaller, The seas friendlier than before. Sailing for enjoyment, not to explore.
We long for the bygone days Yet refuse to relinquish comforts. Instead we gnash and grind our teeth.
When we see the birds overhead (I pay much more attention now) We don’t know their thoughts or mind.
Still we long for their freedom. We cry for wings to carry us Away from the here, the common place.
We sail, eat, drink, to escape. We use wings not for freedom But to tie us to places.
To work, to family, to bonds. In this we are all alike. We shrunk the world
Through exploration, discovery. Through innovation and technology. Yet we feel smaller,
More insignificant than ever. Given the choice over and over We choose, we prefer, safety.
We refuse to spread our wings For Icarus, in flight, went too close. Not us, we communally think.
Inhale. exhale. In rhythm with all. Safety, rather than try. Or fail. For failure is certain death.
At least that’s what we’re told. Taught from an early age Failure is not allowed.
I’m sitting on a floating resort In the middle of the Caribbean Because someone imagined it.
Even though countless ships, Other vessels, both mechanical, or human Lie on the bottom of this sea.
Still, we sail, knowing its safety Because someone was willing to fail, To attempt over and over again.
What they should teach: Be not discouraged. Life will break you, beat you down. But be not discouraged.
Your steps will falter, And you will lose your way. Be not discouraged.
You may be abandoned, From time to time feel unloved. Be not discouraged.
You may lose hope, In yourself, or in humanity. But be not discouraged.
The Tides of Change
Driving around town, listening to the Hamilton OBC recording, I realized that a large part of my problem with Daytona (and to a smaller extent, Central Florida) is that nothing is happening here. The area isn’t driving the conversation anywhere. People here can stay put in the time lapse that exists, and change doesn’t come until it trickles from elsewhere. Change isn’t being made here.
It’s an interesting concept. Orlando and Orange County has a thriving virtual reality and simulation industry, but it’s not Silicon Valley, or even Portland, Maine. It’s a smaller semi-hub, and the economic drivers of the area hurts more than aides potential employment. The theme parks create lively destinations, but it’s a tourism-driven industry, and other than conventions or vacations, there’s very little incentive to rock the boat around town.
The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I would feel motivated to spur change here. Some factors prevent me from considering making this home permanent, but that’s neither here nor there.
Change happens where change happens, and that’s historically in the more metropolitan areas. Where bohemia and big business converge, and ideas take shape and take root. There, the tide is continually flowing and all around it either flow with the current or fight to change it. At the outskirts, where the flowing water is rarely felt and merely remakred upon, it’s the quiet acceptance of whatever decisions were made elsewhere. And that’s where dissatisfication lives, or at least a part of it.
That’s a Wrap
Just finished up my first semester as a teacher. Mr. Osowski. Quite a surprise, but in the year that’s been it makes a kind of sense.
I enjoyed it, too. High school drama class, where mostly we worked on improvisations and acting techniques. I suppose that I would have liked more time with my class.
However, given the journey to come over the next months, I couldn’t stay. I’m hopeful that once I get settled I’ll be able to teach again.
Thinking back to how I began doing theatre, I would have never imagined being a drama teacher. But I did it.
Bring on whatever’s next!
Everything Changes
We replace our bodies every 28 days, or something like that. I don’t recall the exact maxim that tells how the cells in our bodies die and are reborn. But every month or so I guess we are a new creature, yet the same.
I think of this after reading the New York Times article on the cast of Hamilton having an impromptu talkback with Vice-President elect Mike Pence. I have no problem with it, for the record.
Still I found myself getting agitated. Not at the political landscape, which is bad enough. But at the change in how I view theatre. It used to be my passion. My joy-bringer. Now I feel sad thinking about it.
For several years I was a working actor, but after this past year the wind of my theatrical sails was sucked out. I don’t know if they’ll ever catch wind again. Which leaves me wondering, what am I going to do now?
Welcome to the New Age
Sitting in a hospital lobby now. My brother is sick, having surgery. I’ve been sitting with him for a couple hours, with my mother and our other brother. It’s weird seeing him attached to tubes and oxygen. But he’s a strong guy, and only in his forties, so I have no doubts as to successful recovery.
A lot of things are going on. There’s the election for one. I could devote several posts to just that, and it seems likely that I will. Also my spiritual discovery, which has been both continual and stilted, depending on the day. Upcoming travels, figuring out my relationship issues and teaching. my day-to-day.
I hope to become more diligent with my writing, but I thought I would participate in NaNoWriMo and that has been consuming a great deal of my time these past two weeks. I’m short of my 25,000 word count mark for today, the half-way point in November, but the concept is a fully fleshed-out novel and I’m optimistic about finishing in time.
That’s all for today I think. Back to waiting for surgery to be over. Take care.
Atlanta
Hanging out up in Atlanta for a few days. Just had a good breakfast with old friends, and talked about the film industry here in town. It’s thriving, and with all the growth it seems that Atlanta is really prospering from it. I wonder if the state will keep its tax credits as is, or if it’ll get greedy like Florida did.
There was a time when Florida was Hollywood East, and Disney and Universal had studios built west of Orlando. Seeing the potential revenues the State decided to get a bigger slice of the pie. Then the industry said, “no”, and took the pie away almost completely. I watched Paper Towns for the first time recently, and was amazed at the Orlando location. How had I not heard that it was filming there?
Turns out, it wasn’t. North Carolina hosted that production, and stock footage was used of the downtown Orlando area. The same kind of thing happened with Fresh Off the Boat, the tv series filmed in California but based in Orlando. It’s an interesting phenomenon. I guess we’ll see what happens here in Atlanta…
On Spirit
There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.
-Rumi
I began a journey, back in November. The inciting incident, as it were. Very recently, I was an office worker in local government, doing arts funding. It was rewarding, albeit unsatisfying work.
I felt lost in my career.
Partially my reasoning for staying had been to work on the life I was building with my fiancée. I lived in a crappy little house, impossible to keep clean. My two pets ran my life, and I was just waiting to get married.
I felt lost in life.
Over lunch with a young man who was leaving his job in real estate to do something in the arts, he had no idea what, he explained that he was doing this program by Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way. It was a twelve-step recovery program for stifled artists.
Perfect for someone who was feeling lost.
I ordered a used copy off Amazon, and when it arrived I started, more or less. Daily pages, which is journaling every day right when you a wake. A three-page long brain dump, hand written, for the purpose of focusing.
Perfect for someone who was feeling lost.
Nearly a year later, I’ve fought through severe depression, what I will address in later posts covering my dark night of the soul; drastic changes in my employment and living situation; world travel; a deeper understanding of faith and spirituality, as well as a more comprehensive exploration of those aspects of myself; and movement. A clearing of the path, so that I could find direction.
I am no longer lost. I just have no idea where I’m going.
Avoidance
I’ve been basically committing social suicide, avoiding friends, family, and those concerned for my well-being. It’s been a long, tumultuous year for me, and I’ve needed time to sort life out.
Questioning not necessarily my choices, but the underlying processes that led me to make those choices, had led to asking bigger questions.
- Who am I?
- What am I here for?
- What brings me joy?
I am not original in asking these questions, nor do I have answers at this moment. But that’s part of why I’ve taken to writing here, as I explore these things.
Maybe I’ll answer the phone or reply to a text. Maybe I won’t. Someone told another that for me it would take time and distance. Perhaps that’s true.
For now, what I have is the journey.
Philly
I’m thinking of a Philadelphia prison. The one dickens viewed on one of his American tours. It’s old, long since unused for housing prisoners.
There’s a metal stair case I climbed, cold. This was months ago now. I wasn’t alone.
Capone stayed there. Others. I listened to stories, read panels. Found heaters in central locations, warming my chilled extremities.
Michael's Musings 