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JUMP (this is not for you)
I like to jump off of cliffs. I love that feeling: The standing on a edge, looking down, having anxiety about it. It’s a long way down. What are you going to do? Before I can even answer, I’m running towards the edge. Jump. That adrenaline, it’s always been my favorite drug.
Last year, I had made up my mind. I was to get an office job, your regular nine to fiver, and move into the city in order to do stand-up in the city more. I jumped. The job is boring, as these jobs go. It pays the bills. I go to work. I do comedy. I get little sleep. Repeat till you get the results you desire.
Knowing how much money you’re going to make is great. Knowing, if you don’t spend too much, your bills will be covered, is comfortable. Within that comfort I started losing something. Call it my mind. Though, I’d be the first to argue that my mind was lost years ago, and good riddance to it.
I did exactly what I said I was going to do. But it wasn’t enough. Because it never is. Wrestling with lack of sleep does strange things to a person. Some can handle it better, I suppose. The few minutes I was on stage became the only time I was happy. That, and the weekend when I was spending time with my family and friends. Of course, surfing and going to the beach when I made the time. Then, on rare nights off, I would go out and party… HARD. While that’s fun to do, there can be a fine line between letting loose and self destructive behavior.
Reevaluate. Step back. Meditate. Drink. Smoke. Go for a run. Write. Repeat. Not necessarily in that order. How did I end up here? Where am I going? Where the fuck am I going?
I did two things. I traced my steps. That’s the thing about being a writer. Like a trail of bread crumbs, I can track my whole life in the past five years. It’s all written down. The highs and lows. The times I was frustrated. The times I was happy…
The times I was feeling most fulfilled, was not only when I was just doing comedy, but when I was writing and producing my scripts and/or working on other projects. The answer became obvious. But how does one find the time? There are only so many hours in a day. How can I make money AND do all these other things that my gut is so strongly telling me to do.
In a way, I guess it’s sort of a blessing that my day job pays me so little. Because I started doing some research and thinking that even as an extra in TV and films, I could make as much money, perhaps even more. I’ve worked on sets. I know exactly what doing background work is like. It sucks. It’s mostly sitting in a room, waiting to be told to walk in the background. However, in that time spent, sitting around waiting, I could have the time to write. And make money. Plus, I became SAG eligible after a very minimal role I did in FX’s “Louie.”
This, of course, was not the easiest of decisions. Because decisions are never easy for me. I’ve been known to take a half hour to decide what to wear the next day. And if you knew how I dress, you’d ask, “what the fuck takes you so long to decide to wear jeans and a Jaws t-shirt?” Change scares me. I hate it. But the alternative is so, so much worse.
SAG has a hefty initiation fee, and there’s no guarantee of work. Being financially independent is important to me. There’s a freedom to it. But there’s a price to pay for that also.
You can’t go back in time. You can’t give advice to your younger self. You just have to move forward in time with everyone else. What you can do is call upon your younger self for advice. It may sound batshit insane, but that’s okay, because I’m batshit insane. I called upon my younger self to have a conversation with. You could call it meditation, call it crazy, call it whatever you want. You wouldn’t be wrong. But that’s what I did. I was wiser when I was younger. As a kid, people often called me “the youngest 40 year old.” I’m becoming more immature with age. Goddamnit, I enjoy talking to my younger self. If there’s only one person I ever want to impress, it’s her. The person I once was.
Try to imagine your future. I could stay at my job, making money, doing comedy at night, paying my dues. Nothing wrong with that. It will lead somewhere, someday. If I don’t crack up at the job. I will crack up. I always do.
Or, I can be a little riskier. Failure frightens me. Going broke, admitting defeat, and having to move back in with my folks (a very first world problem, I admit), seems to be a fate worse than death.
To be boring is the original sin. In my stories, my characters don’t take the safe road. I won’t let them. So, why then, will I allow myself to do otherwise?
I’m on a cliff. It’s a long way down. It frightens me. I can hear my younger self laughing at me. Because I’m realizing what she’s always known. That there was never another option but to jump.
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