It was sad, packing up from my temporary sanctuary this week. Not sad that I was leaving but sad how empty the place looked once I had all my things packed away. In the process of packing, I kept thinking, I have too much stuff, I have to get rid of some of this. Why do I keep the things I do – my favorite props from “Lloyd’s Prayer” (Porpy’s nose, Bob’s water dish), 15 oversized teddy bears, Ren and Stimpy stuff – and how do I choose what to get rid of?
But looking at the emptiness that I was leaving behind, it made me realize something – these things, this crap I have accumulated, this all reflects a life that is being lived. And, looking at the empty space, I realized how easy it would be to just live without anything. Give in to the depression that lingers around the edges and use that as an excuse to not live. Because if you don’t experience a life, you cannot be hurt, you cannot be wounded, you cannot be challenged, you cannot be vulnerable. If you don’t experience a life, you don’t have to live up to expectations because there aren’t any. If you don’t experience a life, you won’t disappoint anyone because there isn’t anyone to let down. You can just sit and stare and stew and ponder and never risk a thing.
I could be you. I could live in the dark, on the edge, watching life as it goes by, watching in wonder at the things others do and have and accomplish. I could say good-bye to all that hurt and pain and bury it way down, hide it away and just say, you know what, I’m done. And no one would find fault with it. There would be concern, there would be care and consideration, but eventually, those people will go away, leaving the life that you have. An empty apartment that holds nothing but your few pieces of furniture, a square of carpet and dust bunnies.
And sometimes it is so tempting to join you in that void, to leave the pain behind, to leave the current struggles behind, to not contemplate what lies ahead, because it’s so hard for me to even see past the end of today. It’s tempting to bury my head in the sand and let it all go.
But then I have nights like last night. Simple, easy, lovely night. Met Chairman at Starbucks in Studio City to see Vertigo Road in their yearly holiday show. We did this last year and it seems to be the beginning of a tradition for my dear friend and myself. These two women are so exquisitely talented and their harmonies are rich and gorgeous. Sitting with one of my favorite people listening to one of my favorite bands, watching him concentrating so hard on the silly holiday origami dove instructions that were on the table, being greeted with warm hugs and welcome. Then heading over to the inaugural “Hooters Tuesday” that Chairman has instituted, beginning this month in Hollywood. Being met by Dave (one of the guys from Koji’s) and Anna and Zadra and Damon and Rose and so many other people. Battling with great seriousness to win the trivia contest (which we did, WE ROCK!) and consuming huge amounts of delicious, un-nutritional food served by women in tight t-shirts, much to the delight of at least Dave and Chairman. Concluding the evening by wandering down Hollywood Blvd. to a gelato place and savoring this glorious treat. We all walked back to our cars together, hugging good night, saying “see you soon” and coming home to my new apartment. Simple. Easy. Lovely.
I came into the chaos of moving into my new place – clothing everywhere, boxes stacked so high and everywhere. I sat down and thought about the emptiness that I had just left hours before, hearing the door echo hollowly behind me. And I realized that, in many ways, this is what I did 16 months ago. I chose to walk out of something that was empty and hollow and dark and lonely. I chose to take all my crap and my silly trinkets and my trivialities and find somewhere with light to put them. I chose to close that door and leave that colorless vacuum where it was and go into the chaos that has been my life.
And although it’s hard to resist the draw of that vacuum when things get hard and when my life feels so empty and alone and heartbreaking, nights like last night show me what I would miss. And maybe it’s just the silly things – Dave and I discussing the intricacies of steer wrestling, Chairman’s laugh all through dinner, winning $50 off our dinner bill because we all knew who the only Brady was that didn’t participate in the last TV movie – but without those things, without those trivial moments, the emptiness would be unfathomable.
I’ve watched you over the short time we spent together and I am sorry that you can’t see past the darkness into what light is out there. And maybe it is about medication and therapy and the depth of your darkness and things I don’t understand. And maybe my darkness is light compared to yours. All I know is that your darkness makes me appreciate the light in my life – the lights in my life maybe is a better way to put it. Several people have been doing gratitude lists lately and mine remains fairly consistent.
I am grateful for my amazing friends. Each of them for their particular proclivities. Zadra and her lip balms. Anna and destination food. Chairman and his laugh and his joy. Patty for her right eyebrow. Misha for her dogged determination to find her life. Monica and her newly fulfilled heart. Al and his potty mouth. A.J. and his A.J.-ness. So many other people and so many other little tiny joys they provide every time I see them.
I am grateful for the gifts God has given me and is allowing me to share with others.
I am grateful for my parents and for every single day I get to have with my father.
I am mostly grateful for those moments of contemplating the darkness and wondering what would I have to lose if I left it all behind. I am grateful because those moments show me what I have to lose. And although I want more in my life, I want so much more, I know there is so much that I already have. And maybe getting away from your darkness and your energy will bring me back to where I can appreciate the light in my life so much more because it is not being eclipsed by the vacuum that is that empty, hollow, dark space. I wish I could help you find your light but, as I have learned, that light is elusive sometimes, and you can only find it yourself. Others can offer it to you and show you where it is but you have to be the one to reach out and wrap your hands around it and bring it into your heart. I hope, somehow, that you find your own light because, when you do, you’ll cherish every little moment of it and wonder how you lived without it.
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