So, this may be a part two I think to No Moss. In this blog I always try to analyze all the good things but I know that there is more to me, to everyone, than that deep thoughtful side. I don’t lie to myself; I am not infallible.
The other night my mother and I were hanging out, as per usual with this whole being back home thing. We were talking and I brought up that I wanted to maybe look into acting and writing. She responded honestly but it was not what I wanted to hear. Isn’t that funny how that works? We ask questions and we hope to hear what the other person says somehow validates or mirrors your own way of thinking but when it doesn’t it is devastating.
She told me that it was a dream and that I needed to have a more concrete ground. I laughed, which pretty much angered her to no end, because she used the analogy that writing is like the champagne of life but I needed my “beerwallet” to pay the bills and for my family and things.
“Mom, I am single,” I said.
“Later in life. When you do have a family,” she said.
I get the gist of what she was saying. Writing and acting and producing are things I am really interested in. I plan on sending in a couple of screenplays to festivals in a few months, and a few revisions. I understand that these are not consistent forms of income but I have seen what a job is like when you have income but the job is terrible. I just thank the gods of blogging that when I worked at the call center I was on the ground floor (Dark Humor!).
I listened to what she said but I was more hurt by the fact that I didn’t have my friend there. That person who believed in me unconditionally. I didn’t have support when I needed it. It was like a stab when she said it was a “dream”.
I once dreamed that I was floating over the city. Literally, that’s it. If you remember an old post I did, I wrote about my dream that I went into outer space. Dreams. A dream is something I find unattainable. Everything else is an option. When she called my option a dream, I was offended. I thought about it long and hard that night.
I was laying in bed listening to Toro y Moi and looking up at the darkened ceiling. I couldn’t help but be angry with her. I was livid.
I was pissed off.
I didn’t know why though until I realized it was more than being hurt. It was more internal. It was the one thing that has been my bane since I was a kid: ambition. I have always been ambitious and it seems great but that hunger is insatiable. I wanted to do things that made me struggle. Things I wasn’t very good at and then become great at them. I tried basketball and got good at that. Mainly because I was 6’3″ when I was 12 but anyway. I was terrible at school and now I am getting my master’s degree with an assistantship.
I am not bragging I am just saying that I love the challenge and I love showing myself that it is possible. My mom is my mother and my best friend. I just want her to be proud of what I do in both respects.
This option is a risk, a big one but I need it. I have been writing, whether for newspapers or blogs or broadcast, for 11 years. I feel like I am just finding the tip of the iceberg that is me and my literary voice. It is what makes me happy. I love the fact that you can never be satisfied with your writing because you know it isn’t perfect.
We are all artists on here my friends. We do what others can’t always do. We craft a story in blog form and it is great but we always know that there is more we could say or a better way we could say something that would make it better.
I digress, though. I don’t want to skew into a tangent.
Ambition is a part of me I am not proud of. I don’t step on other’s toes or anything. I only try to be better than me but I know I can always be better. Drop some lbs or edit some stories. Increase your vocabulary. Maybe don’t cuss as much….
Changing, hopefully for the better, but never satisfied.
Content is a dream.
I feel angst in the fact that there is a fork in my road right now. There is this great song called “Closing Time” by Semisonic and in it there is a lyric: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
I feel like in the coming months I have a decision. One I must make without the ambition that clouds my mind so often. I am going to be closing a very large book soon. Friends are moving away and I am moving on. This new beginning has to be the book of my choosing. I could choose the short sweet book of knowing. That path that has no grass. Paved even.
I could choose the long novel. The extremely long novel. Atlas Shrugged long. The novel where there is depth and so much there. So much to experience. There is more to it. That path that has barely been walked is the one I have to choose.
That long novel that begins with the line: “Chris decided….”
I guess we’ll see how that line ends soon.