Fear
I spent the month of December in my room in Queens drinking cheap whine, eating pb and j sandwiches and listening to This American Life. Fear does strange things to a person. I thought I was a fairly fearless person. I’d moved to NY in October without knowing anyone. By December, however, fear swirled about me along with the snow. I had three dollars in my bank account, the rent due in two weeks, the desire to eat something other than peanut butter and jelly on Wonder Bread and the bleak future of being a professional bus boy. I didn’t realize how much of my identity rested on my social and financial status and was humbled to realize I wasn’t as idealistic as I thought.
When people meet at parties in America the conversation will almost always turn into “what you do for a living”. It’s a safe and productive conversation because it eliminates the awkward silence and allows for a quick categorization of someone. For example:
That’s Henry the farmer- probably a hard worker, family oriented, no bullshit, enjoys football, Dane Cook and a good barbeque, worries about the weather but a strong and necessary belief in God eases his mind. Probably conservative and would laugh or retaliate at a Ford vs. Chevy joke depending on what was waiting for him outside. Drinks beer and is a proud member of the National Guard.
Or
That’s Allen the president of the local bank– probably lives on the hill, has a swimming pool, member of the country club and Knights of Columbus, has a good looking wife, if he has boys they are either great athletes or pot heads or both, his girls would be insecure beauties or the president and vice president of student council. If his wife isn’t at the party, don’t ask about her. If he’s chatting with a young bank teller with a martini in his hand, assume the worst.
Stereotypes. We define ourselves by what the world tells us. The world defines us by what we do. I was at ritzy party in early December (weird story about how I got in) and a young Wall Street exec asked me what I did for a living. I thought to myself for ten seconds and then decided to lie. I said I worked as a head waiter but that it wouldn't last long because my writing and acting careers were about to explode. Ha! The truth was I was David the busser, the insecure, quiet college grad who smiled because he wanted to be liked.
David the busser didn’t fair well in December. I was poor and scared. My identity had been stripped from being an honor college grad to the guy who took the trash out of the rich people's way. Ahh! I was so proud, and I was so scared.
Faith and Swagger
The truth is we aren’t what we do; we are so much more than that. My dad is a doctor, but he is more than that. He is a man who cares about people, loves solving problems and is good at making people feel better. These characteristics help to classify him, and they also are what led to his being a doctor. Who we are influences what we do, but our occupations shouldn't define us. If they do then we are no better than machines clunking through fifty years of work until the next batch of college grad machines takes over and we go to Florida to rust. It takes faith to live beyond definitions - to not allow yourself or the world to compartmentalize you. It takes faith because it's terrifying to live without defense mechanisms - to live with an open heart and an open mind that are ready to learn, to be wrong, to look foolish, to fail and to change. I’m in an improv class right now, and the instructor told us the first rule is to jump into the fire – to find out what terrifies you and then to do it.
My life in New York takes the faith to jump in and the swagger to survive. I want to jump into the fire for real - to live like I'm not afraid and to leap into my fear with a smile on my face and swagger in my step. If I ever want to do anything great, I'm going to need to start believing - to have faith in God, myself and humanity. To jump into the fire without worrying about getting burned because in the end, I'm much more scared about living my life on the lukewarm sideline - about looking back at my life when I'm seventy and regretting the lack of burn marks. I want to be the kind of person with the guts to live openly, the kind of person who at a cocktail party when asked by a rich young exec what he does for a living looks him in the eye and tells him he is a busser who then takes the exec's empty glass with a perfected motion of a professional, smiles and swaggers away.
Updates:
Acting- I’ve been going from one show to the next, meeting people and learning.
