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...
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