It is the end of a year.
Several things have been put to rest.
You know, I spent much of last year picking up the pieces of a not quite broken, but severely fractured heart. And I cannot thank 2012 enough for showing me how much joy there was waiting for me on the other side. Of course, with great joy, there was a new kind of loss. Both of my grandparents left this strange world this year. High School sweethearts who wanted to be together for all of eternity. And I know that’s what they’re doing right now. I spend much of my time now trying to “live right” in honor of their memory. Live right, and trying to recreate most of my grandmother’s absolutely legendary recipes. I’ll let you know how that one goes. I’m trying to perfect her hush puppies.
This little artistic journey I’ve spent the last year working on is oddly making sense to me right now. What began as therapy for the aforementioned fracture has become something it seems that others want to hear almost as much as I love letting it out. I’ve spent these on-stage therapy sessions (it’s so much cheaper than my actual shrink) sorting out my absolutely terrible track record in the department of inter-personal relationships. Don’t worry, I still haven’t figured it out. So there’s clearly more to come.
While at home in Boston over Thanksgiving I met with several different groups of friends who said several similar things to me over several different cocktails. Things which I’ve heard over the years since I’ve moved away from home. My friend “J” told me that he envisioned me living some fabulous, succulent life in New York City, at a different party every night, meeting fabulous people, and their fabulous, succulent hor d’oeuvres. Another, a girlfriend from college, “A”, said, after a story of my seeing Katie Holmes walking through Chelsea the week before, “It must be so exciting!”
There’s a secret that I haven’t yet divulged to them. Things here have not been nearly as picturesque as Instagram may lead one to believe. I’ve, at times, been on a more Gatsbian trajectory. Things have only recently began to make sense (as I rapidly approach my 11th year here). The dreams are not nearly as lofty as before. I do now realize that I cannot dig a hole clear through to the other end of this apple just because I have some fancy shovel…which they only make in the West Village, and you can only purchase (for far too much $$), after months spent on an exclusive waitlist. I have spent much of my time in 2 places. Lofty Pursuit or Incessant Dwelling Upon. There is not much for commerce in either of these towns.
The good that has come from reading, re-reading, and re-re-reading old journals, wondering Whatever happened to _____? (fill in the blank with any # of past relationships), and my almost 10 year pursuit of things that couldn’t possibly be good for me has become this new journey, this new art.
As the year draws to a close, I will not say that I’m through. It is not the end of days that the Mayans would have us believe (if they were still around), but it is the end of this particular time and the beginning of whatever is next. Change and (hopefully) progress. If you attend my show, you shock me. I am still working through my deprecating wonderment of why anyone would think the stories I tell or the songs I sing are important, funny, or worthwhile, but for now, if I look and see you in the audience, I will simply say “Thank you”. Next we’re on to Boston… This time I may have to tell them just how succulent their lives seem to me.
Get yo' tickets here...