ePen to ePaper
I'm a waiter.
It's what I do, and by most people's standards, what I am. I daresay, even by my own standards. I'm conceding this because while I would primarily consider myself an actor, I'm not actually acting. Haven't, for well over a year now. I'm conceding this because it's time to admit to myself and to the world that I am much less than what I should be. Here I am, surviving in the most exciting city in the world, and all I can do here is survive: I go to work, I pay my bills, I relax on my off time, I take the occasional vacation to unwind. I'm conceding these things because I need to remind myself that surviving is not enough.
Occasionally, on days like this, when just the right song plays in my vicinity, when just the right meal has been eaten, when just an appropriate amount of caffeine has worked its way into my bloodstream, I recall a vast, almost untapped well of creative potential inside of me. Most days now, this well is covered by layers of doubt, layers of comparisons with other people, and, most startingly, a rapidly accumulating layer of "knowing my limits." It's something that happens more and more as I get older: I start to --
See, just now, what happened? Something that started in pure voice, expressing an idea that I seized upon and knew to be true, got lost in something convoluted and impossible to follow.
In the spirit of reflecting my state of mind, I'll leave it there. But I'll share with you what terrifies me: my first inclination, when I saw how quickly I lost my voice, was to close the window and go about my day.
We all know that being creative is easier when you're young. You have fewer expectations, fewer limitations that you're aware of. You could grow up to be President. You could grow up to be an astronaut. You could change the world, if you wanted.
I've realized, on various subway rides to and from work, that I still possess every amount of my creative potential. But I've noticed what it takes to get there, to that place where I can access it -- it takes effort. Colossal, monumental effort. And it's often worth it. Once I've spent the energy to get me there, things roll off my tongue, or through my keyboard, and I can see a glimpse of reality beyond this noisesome life.
At night, I would quietly sneak out of my parents' house and walk barefoot out to the driveway. I'd slowly check the neighborhood street before crossing the threshold from driveway to road, and that was where I'd sit. I'd place one hand on asphalt still warm from the day, and there it was: connection. Like some enormous, glowing web, I could see how my hand touched a road that led to another road, which led to another, and another, and another. I could sense that just by stepping out onto one street, I could, if I continued long enough, get to any other. -- thoughts typed into my iPad, September 16th, 2011
So. I'm a waiter. But give me a little time, a chance to finally put forth some effort, and I'll be able to change just one letter in that sentence; from asinine to repentant, from average to resplendent, from acceptable to requisite. Get it?
Because I am more than what I do, and even if what I do makes me happy, I always will be.
It's what I do, and by most people's standards, what I am. I daresay, even by my own standards. I'm conceding this because while I would primarily consider myself an actor, I'm not actually acting. Haven't, for well over a year now. I'm conceding this because it's time to admit to myself and to the world that I am much less than what I should be. Here I am, surviving in the most exciting city in the world, and all I can do here is survive: I go to work, I pay my bills, I relax on my off time, I take the occasional vacation to unwind. I'm conceding these things because I need to remind myself that surviving is not enough.
Occasionally, on days like this, when just the right song plays in my vicinity, when just the right meal has been eaten, when just an appropriate amount of caffeine has worked its way into my bloodstream, I recall a vast, almost untapped well of creative potential inside of me. Most days now, this well is covered by layers of doubt, layers of comparisons with other people, and, most startingly, a rapidly accumulating layer of "knowing my limits." It's something that happens more and more as I get older: I start to --
See, just now, what happened? Something that started in pure voice, expressing an idea that I seized upon and knew to be true, got lost in something convoluted and impossible to follow.
In the spirit of reflecting my state of mind, I'll leave it there. But I'll share with you what terrifies me: my first inclination, when I saw how quickly I lost my voice, was to close the window and go about my day.
We all know that being creative is easier when you're young. You have fewer expectations, fewer limitations that you're aware of. You could grow up to be President. You could grow up to be an astronaut. You could change the world, if you wanted.
I've realized, on various subway rides to and from work, that I still possess every amount of my creative potential. But I've noticed what it takes to get there, to that place where I can access it -- it takes effort. Colossal, monumental effort. And it's often worth it. Once I've spent the energy to get me there, things roll off my tongue, or through my keyboard, and I can see a glimpse of reality beyond this noisesome life.
At night, I would quietly sneak out of my parents' house and walk barefoot out to the driveway. I'd slowly check the neighborhood street before crossing the threshold from driveway to road, and that was where I'd sit. I'd place one hand on asphalt still warm from the day, and there it was: connection. Like some enormous, glowing web, I could see how my hand touched a road that led to another road, which led to another, and another, and another. I could sense that just by stepping out onto one street, I could, if I continued long enough, get to any other. -- thoughts typed into my iPad, September 16th, 2011
So. I'm a waiter. But give me a little time, a chance to finally put forth some effort, and I'll be able to change just one letter in that sentence; from asinine to repentant, from average to resplendent, from acceptable to requisite. Get it?
Because I am more than what I do, and even if what I do makes me happy, I always will be.