2:38 to Freedom

They put new windows in at my office. They're so clear that I'm surprised directionally challenged fowl haven't concussed themselves upon them (or worse). Actually, I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. I think the feathered creatures would be wary of the large amount of bricks and plaster surrounding the windows and thus they might be spared the unfortunate (and absolutely embarrassing) scene of soaring full-speed into a well cleansed piece of glass.

I don't like the new windows. Which is unfair actually—they're lovely and haven't done a thing to me personally... it's just that getting them was a huge disruption at work, and now they're too clear.

I can see what I'm missing.

The weather is changing. In more ways than one. We just wrapped up a three-week run of the Aaron Sorkin drama, A Few Good Men. I was fortunate enough to land the role of Smilin' Jack Ross. That's me to the right; it's the closest you'll ever get to seeing me in a real uniform. Gotta admit though, I liked the feel of it. Not rushing off to enlist, but after studying the history and the culture of the military, I can see why people do and I have a lot of respect for them all.

I'm in a mood. Maybe it's post-curtain depression. You spend 10 weeks of your life (not to mention the prep you put in before auditions) living and breathing a character. Going to rehearsal everyday with amazingly talented people. Pumping your heart into words that you can only hope to emulate in your own writing one day.

And then it's over. I think there's a reason I don't act as much as I once did. It's hard to let go. But then more oft than naught the projects in which I immerse myself become such a part of me that when they end (which they always do), there is an immediate fallout. A void. The wind is rushing out, replaced by an icy cold.

Naturally I do what any person lamenting the passage of a kick-ass experience would do: I begin another. And down the "Rabbit Hole" I go. In a few weeks I will step off the stage once again and take the helm of a theatrical production. I look forward to it with relish.

But for now, I'm going to happily recall the lighter, more fun-thrilling moments of AFGM. Nailing my scenes. Joking around backstage. Late nights out. The swords... ah, the swords! The cast purchased swords for our stage manager (Sultry Sue) and our director (Keaton)—two people who make my general existence better by being a part of it.



Aren't they sweet? Now, I'm not a violent man. But I frakkin' love weapons. I could see myself collecting swords. I really could. Keaton later joked that he'll never be able to act for me again because he won't be able to top this director's gift. To be fair, the cast of Darkside got me all the Apollo mission patches and mounted them with a cast photo and the Apollo 18 patch from our production. So yeah, I think we're even.

So yeah, it's over. AFGM is wrapped and I actually don't have tons of theatre related things to do tonight. I could actually go to Ciao and watch football tonight. Holy buckets. I could actually take a moment. Take a deep breath. And try to find something to recharge me.

That's probably why I'm in my mood. I'm tapped out. Need a kick-start. A jump. An infusion of zee life force! Been sprinting through this year without question or pause and now I'm heading towards home on nothin' but bingo fuel. 2008 is knockin' in the distance and I never slowed down to take in 2007.

It's been a wild year thus far. Life-changing in small ways. But still I remain standing still. Complacent as the world shifts around me. It only feels like I'm moving quickly, racing through life... but in all reality, I think I'm the one standing still. The things I've chosen to fill my time are not fulfilling me as they once did.

If they were I wouldn't be dozing off at my desk or blogging in the middle of the afternoon.

I want to live. I want to do something I've never done before. I want to think of something spontaneously instead of planning the frak out of it. I want to drive hundreds of miles and jump into a lake for no reason other than it's not something I would do. But then that's been done—thank you Keaton—so I'll just have to find a way to up the ante and make jumping in a lake more interesting this go around.

There are precious few times in a person's life when that person can truly claim to be free. We let ourselves become subordinates to our jobs, our hobbies, our habits, and expectations. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Truly, just for you and you alone? Something you'd wanted to do, thought about, but never took the time to experience.

How about the cliches? Paint a picture. Watch the sunset. How about something more inventive? Write without homonyms. Take a leak outside. And don't care. Order off the kids menu. Book a flight to a city you've never been to. Fly there by yourself and take it in. Jump in a lake. Clothing optional.

I SOUND MY BARBARIC YAWP OVER THE ROOFTOPS OF THE WORLD.

I look around and see that this isn't so. I don't yawp nearly often enough. That's going to change. I want to be the man I know I am—the person I am deep down. You'd like him. I think. I don't know. Doesn't matter. Because it would be me. The real me. Unfiltered. I want to write how I want to write and act how I want to act. Do the things I don't do because of some person I thought I was a decade ago. I want to live and experience a life that I'll look back on without regret. I want to stand up. I'm not talking rebellion. I'm talking realization.

Maybe it's the weather. Or the new windows. Or perhaps the last 10 weeks have opened my eyes to possibilities that would have gone heretofore unexplored in a life that while ultimately—sorry... channeling Sports Night a bit there.

This post feels like its walking a tightrope of profound revelation and incoherent dreck. Just trying to pin down what it is that has me in a mood. Something does. That's obvious. Anxiety about directing? Nerves about writing? Facing a winter in an empty bed? I really hope I'm not succumbing to that "oh no, I'm almost 30 and what do I have to show for it" crap. Setting life goals based on one's time on this planet is a-whole-nother conversation. The only deadline I adhere to is death. Can't miss that one.

I'll close out with a passage from the movie Dead Poet's Society that sums up a bit of what I'm feeling these days.

They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.