A smart man
July 20th, written in various airports/planes.
It's been an incredibly busy last couple of weeks. Several different cities have come and gone, and I sit now in Pearson International Airport waiting for my airborne chariot to carry me home.
I finished two different street performing festivals in two cities along the 401 these last weekends and they were both very enjoyable, if not only from the satisfaction of good old fashioned hard work. Soreness, cuts, blood, sweat, rental cars, disappointment, pain, joy, laughter, humour, airplanes, excitement and exceptional company made for a very complete couple of weeks, and as always there's the time to come home.
Dave and Tony were with me (remember them?) for both of these gigs and it was nothing shy of excellent to see them (and their progression!) which admittedly made me feel a little guilty. Tony was performing a one arm handstand on Dave this year as part of their finale and the way they made it look so effortless was absolutely incredible. One day...
Nikki spent the first weekend with me, then we shot down to Chicago to visit her family which was a nice, whimsical reprieve from the exciting chaos of performing life and I find myself enjoying Chicago more and more each time I go. While I was there I found my idea of home slowly starting to shift. Home always seemed to be where I was, where my things are, where my bed is. My definition of home feels vastly different now. Now, home feels like where Nikki is, or where we'll meet up again.
But I digress a little- That's another post entirely. Back to Dave and Tony...
Dave is having a really hard time. Despite his amazing skills, he hates his show. He's making less money than last year. He wants to be racier in his humour, and Tony doesn't want that. The second weekend, there were several shows that weren't ideal- There weren't huge crowds, it was raining a little bit, and you could feel the jaded attitude and bitterness creeping in to some of the group. Several of us didn't get more than one or two shows a day and there was a vast rift between the administration of the festival and the performers.
This bred a little bit of unhappiness, obviously. People were missing contracts, the schedule was nebulous at best and the crowds while generous were not attending in great numbers. Dave was taking it particularly personally.
The final evening, during a meeting with the administration of the festival in which they requested our feedback, we felt largely ignored. We heard justification after justification and seemingly unreasonable requests from us. (Do a fire show in ten square feet? No.) Tony and I were texting each other across the restaurant table out of frustration saying things we didn't want to say out loud in the presence of the festival administration because it all seemed to hit a brick wall of deferral. The phrases “We can't do anything about it” and “It's not our fault” rang out more times than I've heard in a considerable amount of time.
Then, (in my humble opinion) Dave said something that I found a little off colour, and while it may have been true, I don't think it was something to say in front of the people who book you. What it was is unimportant, but I sent Joey an under the table text immediately saying “Dave needs to stop” or something along those lines. I can't really remember.
After a bit of an awkward moment, Dave gets up and leaves the table abruptly. I know he doesn't like to censor himself, and I think he realized if he stuck around, he might make a completely unrecoverable remark.
My phone buzzes again. It's a text. It's a angry message from Dave. Not a witticism from Tony.
“If you don't think I should say something, don't hide behind Tony. Say it to my face.”
Great.
[continued at approximately 12:00 EST and 36000 feet]
I am not afraid of saying things that truly need to be said. I leave soon after, making a hasty but graceful exit from the hub-bub of the meeting for alleged feedback. I head straight to the hotel, and straight to Dave and Tony's room.
Knock knock knock.
Dave answers. The hotel room is messy and cluttered, but there are two of them there after all. After I quickly use the washroom, I sit down on a stool, as he sits on his bed. We talk and much is said. I remember a few particularly poignant moments where he looked at me, hesitates, and said:
“I hate my show, but I love the rush of a big audience.” he muses, looking down at the bed, and floor. Tony has come to the room too and is listening to us talk. “I should just stand on a pole and be funny.” I pipe up immediately.
“Stop doing it. It's simple. You made the decision to do it, to be here. You said earlier that you don't see things that way. Well, stop doing something you hate, and start doing something you love, even if it means change. I watch your show and wish I could do your show.” I proclaim. I'm going now, I can feel my brain tingling. I'm ready to be shot down, and I'm ready to be positively received. Either way, I know what to do next.
“Then do my show. I don't care.” Dave says. He stares right at me. I see Tony look at me too out of my peripheral vision. I wonder, as Dave's partner what he's thinking.
“I can't. Just like you can't decide all of a sudden to be funny.”
Silence. Beat. Beat. I continue.
“If it means performing without Tony, do it. If it means performing together and apart, do it. But imploding on yourself is not going to do you or him or anyone any good. I should know.” I say, staring back at him. I do know.
Suddenly, something strange happens. I feel light, airy, and I detach from the conversation. Do you ever have one of those moments that seems like it lasts for a minute but ends after a split second? As I finished my sentence, I felt weightless and free from the entangling earthly bonds of stress, self-doubt, and self-pity. I felt cinder blocks fall off my shoulders. I felt the sting that Dave was feeling, of making the choice to make things harder on yourself then they need to be.
It felt so simple and it feels so simple.
Simultaneously, we have a moment of recognition, Dave and I. I don't know if they were the same realization, but we share a moment of silence as Tony looks on. My skin and face tingle and I smile. Dave looks at me, sees me smiling and instead of asking why, or assuming I'm making a farce of his misfortune, he ends our discourse on several positive notes.
He was at a crux, I saw it in his eyes, and he made a choice- A choice to listen to the voice of recently discovered experience and take the first steps to doing what deep down he knows is right- Make the right decisions to become passionate about what you do again.
Happiness seems to breed happiness, and while the festival of last weekend was not wonderful by any stroke of the imagination, I worked with my colleagues and friends, had a couple amazing shows and did the best I could. I'm sitting on a chair several kilometres in the air and having a glass of red wine before being picked up at the airport by my wonderful darling girl.
I said to Dave over the course of our conversation that it's all a matter of perspective and the choices based on the perspective you choose. I hope he remembers that. I hope I remember that. He's a smart man. Hopefully I am too.