I believe it was during my first year of college when I saw "Sunday in the Park With George." My college had produced it the previous year and was resurrecting it for some theatre festival that I can't recall the name of. I sat, a wide eyed freshman, a new member of the theatre program (quite a detour from the initial comic book artist trajectory) watching the first dress rehearsal.
I hated it.
Stephen Sondheim's music was so juxtaposed to my limited knowledge of what musical theatre was. I found the music awkward... much like the first time you listen to a cd by your favorite artist and you have great expectations that aren't met.However, I was intrigued. And much like a cd you've only listened to once, it only got better the second time I watched/ listened. By the third run through of the show, I was smitten. The music certainly grew on me but more than that the storyline is what captured my heart. The story of a woman in love with an artist on the verge of greatness and her inability to reach him.
My entire childhood up through college, I was known as "the artist". It was common to hear praise of my talent... With out really understanding how lucky I was. Ironically college was such a blossoming of other aspects of who I am that some how my passions all seemed to shift. By the time I had graduated, I was more hell bent on falling in love than anything.
I moved to NYC in 2004... With a half assed notion that I was going to be an actor. The only problem was that my excitement and passion ONCE AGAIN outgrew my talent. And with out drive... Well any one knows how that goes.
I did however finally fall in love.
And out.
And in again.
And out again.
And then, as I've said before, I took time to reintroduce myself TO MYSELF and my passions. And I rediscovered that title that had been bestowed to me since... Birth.
"Artist."
I had stumbled upon a love of filmography and editing and story telling and conceptualizing and styling and writing and making music. And these things all went together for me.It was invigorating and fresh and exciting. It was fulfilling in ways I had long forgotten. I was happy and beyond that, I was the source of my own happiness.
And much like the Byrds sang, " To everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn."
So as the inspiration began to fade... I promised myself to remain focused and hold tight to being THE ARTIST. More specifically I promised myself "no dating" for a while. Surely dating any one would through me off course once again. And I didn't want that to happen.
And that's the funny thing about life.
It was April. They say April Showers bring May flowers. And the events in my life at the time were certainly bringing a fair share of "showers". So I was feeling particularly vulnerable on one Thursday night while getting ready to close the bar. And in walked opportunity.
He was beautiful. He seemed shy. I instantly adored him.
The major problem was this: I had convinced myself that I was not only not ready to be in a relationship again, but being in a relationship would set me back... Weaken the resurrected artist inside of me.
I battled my feelings and over thought everything.
For months.
It wasn't even until the summer that I felt sure of the healthiness of the relationship I was forming. On July 2, 2012 I asked Michael to be my boyfriend.
Michael seemed to make my life so much happier. With him in it, I was better off. At the time my arm was in a sling and Michael was a huge help in many ways. One seemingly small way was that he was able to wash places I couldn't reach. Looking back, that's a perfect metaphor for the work he was doing on my heart. It was as if he was washing away all the soot and tire marks that existed supperficially.
And that's the thing about relationships. You scrub away at each other's barriers... that exist whether you are aware of not.
AND SUDDENLY YOU STRIKE THE BOTTOM. And there it is. The heart. Exposed. And at first it's beautiful. But when you expose your heart you leave it susceptible to any and everything.
The first time we argued... Really argued... Was awful. It reminded me of everything I didn't want to become. I remember holding onto anger for much longer than I needed to.
Any one who has been in a relationship knows what it's like to hit a patch of bumps where neither person seems to be winning. It's awful. It's daunting. It's frustrating. And more than anything... it's tiring.
Opportunity is all around us. Rarely do we seize the full potential of it. I'll speak for me alone. Rarely do I seize the full potential... take the high road... gaze optimistically.
Looking back at all the opportunities I've taken and missed out on.... the greatest remains the opportunity to fall in love.
To love is to risk. To risk is to expose to loss or damage.
It can get ugly when you get to the bottom of a heart. And when fear and exhaustion creep in... it can get even uglier. Being in love with some one is like holding a mirror up to yourself. And sometimes you don't much like what you see.
This week, I didn't much care for my reflection.
I was an asshole.
"Sunday in the Park With George" is the tale of an artist who goes unreached.
My story is one in which the artist realizes that love is the only thing that made any of the opportunities... large and small... captured or otherwise... worthwhile.
Michael: Thank you for reaching the places I missed.
I hated it.
Stephen Sondheim's music was so juxtaposed to my limited knowledge of what musical theatre was. I found the music awkward... much like the first time you listen to a cd by your favorite artist and you have great expectations that aren't met.However, I was intrigued. And much like a cd you've only listened to once, it only got better the second time I watched/ listened. By the third run through of the show, I was smitten. The music certainly grew on me but more than that the storyline is what captured my heart. The story of a woman in love with an artist on the verge of greatness and her inability to reach him.
My entire childhood up through college, I was known as "the artist". It was common to hear praise of my talent... With out really understanding how lucky I was. Ironically college was such a blossoming of other aspects of who I am that some how my passions all seemed to shift. By the time I had graduated, I was more hell bent on falling in love than anything.
I moved to NYC in 2004... With a half assed notion that I was going to be an actor. The only problem was that my excitement and passion ONCE AGAIN outgrew my talent. And with out drive... Well any one knows how that goes.
I did however finally fall in love.
And out.
And in again.
And out again.
And then, as I've said before, I took time to reintroduce myself TO MYSELF and my passions. And I rediscovered that title that had been bestowed to me since... Birth.
"Artist."
I had stumbled upon a love of filmography and editing and story telling and conceptualizing and styling and writing and making music. And these things all went together for me.It was invigorating and fresh and exciting. It was fulfilling in ways I had long forgotten. I was happy and beyond that, I was the source of my own happiness.
And much like the Byrds sang, " To everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn."
So as the inspiration began to fade... I promised myself to remain focused and hold tight to being THE ARTIST. More specifically I promised myself "no dating" for a while. Surely dating any one would through me off course once again. And I didn't want that to happen.
And that's the funny thing about life.
It was April. They say April Showers bring May flowers. And the events in my life at the time were certainly bringing a fair share of "showers". So I was feeling particularly vulnerable on one Thursday night while getting ready to close the bar. And in walked opportunity.
He was beautiful. He seemed shy. I instantly adored him.
The major problem was this: I had convinced myself that I was not only not ready to be in a relationship again, but being in a relationship would set me back... Weaken the resurrected artist inside of me.
I battled my feelings and over thought everything.
For months.
It wasn't even until the summer that I felt sure of the healthiness of the relationship I was forming. On July 2, 2012 I asked Michael to be my boyfriend.
Michael seemed to make my life so much happier. With him in it, I was better off. At the time my arm was in a sling and Michael was a huge help in many ways. One seemingly small way was that he was able to wash places I couldn't reach. Looking back, that's a perfect metaphor for the work he was doing on my heart. It was as if he was washing away all the soot and tire marks that existed supperficially.
And that's the thing about relationships. You scrub away at each other's barriers... that exist whether you are aware of not.
AND SUDDENLY YOU STRIKE THE BOTTOM. And there it is. The heart. Exposed. And at first it's beautiful. But when you expose your heart you leave it susceptible to any and everything.
The first time we argued... Really argued... Was awful. It reminded me of everything I didn't want to become. I remember holding onto anger for much longer than I needed to.
Any one who has been in a relationship knows what it's like to hit a patch of bumps where neither person seems to be winning. It's awful. It's daunting. It's frustrating. And more than anything... it's tiring.
Opportunity is all around us. Rarely do we seize the full potential of it. I'll speak for me alone. Rarely do I seize the full potential... take the high road... gaze optimistically.
Looking back at all the opportunities I've taken and missed out on.... the greatest remains the opportunity to fall in love.
To love is to risk. To risk is to expose to loss or damage.
It can get ugly when you get to the bottom of a heart. And when fear and exhaustion creep in... it can get even uglier. Being in love with some one is like holding a mirror up to yourself. And sometimes you don't much like what you see. This week, I didn't much care for my reflection.
I was an asshole.
"Sunday in the Park With George" is the tale of an artist who goes unreached.
My story is one in which the artist realizes that love is the only thing that made any of the opportunities... large and small... captured or otherwise... worthwhile.
Michael: Thank you for reaching the places I missed.
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