Faith, Hope and Swagger

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.

Living – I moved to Brooklyn and love it. I’m living with two other actors.

Moon Dogs

Moon Dogs

New York has millions of dogs, and they are all richer than I am. I am walking in the West Village (a ritzy part of Manhattan), and a poodle has a coat that costs more than my own. It is leather and has pockets (toughest poodle ever). These dogs live in posh apartments, eat balanced meals and have their own personal trainers (professional dog walkers).

Part of me thinks it is twisted and sad to spend thousands of dollars on an animal when other people are starving. Another part of me knows how much I love my dog, and then I get confused. What is it about dogs - or animals in general? People love watching them. If someone has a dog in the subway, everyone becomes happier. You can feel it. A couple of days ago, a woman had a dog in her handbag. It was a slobbering-type dog (the handbag will never be the same) but no one cared. Everyone was looking at the dog and smiling. A little girl pointed and giggled and a wall-street man babbled in "dog-talk" for a good ten seconds. The dog just sat there and drooled, but he owned the hearts of everyone on that subway car. He would make millions as a panhandler.

The woman got off at the next stop, and I sat there watching the car sink back into stillness. A few stops later, a homeless man entered the car and started asking for money. He was dirty, possibly drunk and had some spit on his beard, although less than the dog. Everyone, including me, sank into our seats hoping this man would pass by without confrontation.

It's a strange world. We humanize animals and animalize humans. I don't know why we often care more for animals (even strangers) than we do for humans, but often we do.

Why? I could make up a bunch of reasons, but I think one reason comes from an animal's ability to simply live. Acting is a perfect example. Someone once told me that it is dangerous to get on stage with an animal or with a child because they always steal the show. They do. A dog can lie on stage for 5 minutes doing nothing and the audience will be on the edge of their seats. An actor can say three words and the audience wants an intermission. Why? It's because children and dogs LIVE on stage. They are open and allow the world to happen to and around them. It's like watching someone look at a full moon on a clear night in the mountains. You can see the moon in the person's eyes, in their face, in their body. But if you ask someone to act like they are looking at the moon, many actors try to show the moon in their bodies. They aren't thinking about the moon; they are thinking about portraying the moon. The first person allows the moon to flow through him; the second forces his opinions on the moon and thereby sucks the truth and wonder out of it. As humans, we can sense false action/behavior, and we are repelled by it. Children have the ability to jump into the world through imagination and play and don't care what others think of them. Animals simply do what they want. Both parties live without walls of defense, trickery, opinions or fear. They are open to the world, and the rest of us are attracted by their openness. Humans yearn to watch people live, and many of us wish we had the faith to do the same.

Money, Basketball and Halloween

Money

It is easy to be idealistic in college - especially at Olaf. I remember writing an essay on Thomas Hobbes's theory of human nature - that human action springs solely from self-preservation. It depressed the hell out of me. I also remember reading Nietzsche and Freud and realizing they presented a world void of love, self sacrifice or goodness. They rattled my worldview, self-view and God-view. I looked around, however, and I saw love. I went to Guatemala and Arkansas and home, and I saw goodness and selflessness. It's a long story, but I came away from college realizing we are more than animals driven by the desire to eat and make babies. I came away believing in the power of love, and I left Olaf ready to embrace the world.

The thing is, it is easy to be idealistic in college. Last week I was getting off the subway during rush hour. I've found that I'm not as in love with rush hour as I was the first few weeks. I was feeling alone, worried and tired, and as I was getting off the train, this little woman pushed me aside while trying to board. Actually, it was more of a shove. An instant rage pulsed through my body - really, it was rather invigorating. I turned with eyes like lasers and had a string of words ready that would make her ears bleed. All of my insecurity, anxiety and fear were bubbling inside of me and I couldn't wait to spew it all over this nasty little woman. But as I turned, I realized she was crying. Her nose was puffy and red and her makeup was smeared around her eyes. I stood there in the doorway and saw her sitting in the corner with her head bent into her lap. My anger dissipated like a vapor as I stepped off the train. I remember just standing on the platform as its metal sides whisked past me wondering what had happened to me.

I had almost lost my temper with a complete stranger for bumping me during rush hour. I realized that my focus had entirely been on me. I find myself worrying about me more than I ever have in my life. I worry about money. I worry about my future. I worry about acting. I worry about making friends. I worry, and I forget about the world around me. I found myself riding the train last week in total boredom. I was doing what I found so intriguing my first week there. I put my ipod on loud (something a little emo) and sat thinking about my life. On the third stop a beggar got on the train, and I turned my ipod on louder. When he got off I felt sick. I had allowed my financial and social insecurity to suck me into myself. I didn't care about anyone in that train. I had problems....

It is really easy to be idealistic in college and really easy to be selfish every where else. It is depressing seeing people cheat, steal and lie to gain power and money. It is more depressing, however, to think that you might do the same.

I think we can choose to be human. What if everyone in that car decided at one time to be completely open? What if every time we got on that train in the morning, we decided to be friends? New York would be a beautiful place. On one side of the car, two people would be making tailgating plans for the next Giant game, and on the other side, three people would be comforting an old woman who outlived her son. It takes guts to be open - to be idealistic - to believe. But I'm an actor and a writer because I believe, and I know I won't survive in New York or anyplace without it.

Basketball

I've started playing basketball in a park close to where I live. I love it. I haven't played basketball for a long time, but I look forward to it every day. The guys I play with are in their twenties and thirties and are mostly Greek, Italian and Asian. Fouling an Italian is a scary experience. Yesterday, one guy stormed off the court and went home mid game. A couple of days ago, I was thinking about why I've had this intense desire for competition and basketball. I thought it may be the camaraderie, the exercise, the human contact, but I concluded that it was because the game is black and white. In many ways, I feel lost in New York. I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing, where I'll be working, what I'm feeling, etc, etc, and it is so refreshing to take part in something that is so concrete. Put the ball in the hoop and stop your man from putting the ball in his hoop. Easy. I know the rules, the expectations; I know exactly what I'm doing and exactly who is in my way. New York is also a big game - I just haven't learned how to dribble or where the hell I'm shooting.

Halloween

I thought the subway was foreign my first time traveling on it, the subway on Halloween is Lord of the Rings meets Alice in Wonderland in the Willy Wonka Factory. For example, on one ride I saw Santa Clause and his nine reindeer next to a mob of teenage zombies singing "Thriller" while Elvis Presley looked on in disgust. Everyone was talking, laughing, often kissing, and usually drinking. In a way, it was nice to see. Maybe there is a lot of love in New York, you just need to drink enough wine and wear the right mask to experience it.

Wandering, Wondering and Drug Dealers

Wandering

You walk everywhere in New York. Actually, you walk everywhere really fast in New York - at least everyone else does. I don't have a reason to walk quickly yet, but I'm sure when I do, I'll race with the best of them. When walking in mass places, I always find it interesting how people come into and out of my life. For example, I could sit next to someone in the park, make small talk for five minutes, and then leave in the opposite direction never to see him again. Yesterday when I left the subway, I told one guy to have a good life - have a good life! Crazy thought. It makes me feel small and insignificant and makes me wonder about life. He will go on living without even remembering my existence. I sometimes feel relieved. I look around and see someone running to get something done, and I ask myself who actually cares if that person is on time? Not me. Not the thousands of other people stepping to get out of his way as he maniacally sprints forward. I guess it matters to his boss, who controls his salary, which affects his marriage, kids, dreams, future - see that's the problem. I get sucked into it too. I don't know. I just feel like I understand the world and my own life better when I forget about agendas and view it as a series of connections - of hellos and goodbyes passed between people floating into and out of each other's lives.

Wondering

The past week has been challenging. Moving to a new place is like jumping into a lake in April. Your head is full of memories from last August when the lake was as warm as the muggy air. You leap out of the car, race to the dock, tear off your shirt and shoes and jump. The air feels great but the water shoots cold steel through your spinal cord, you can't breath and your testicles shrivel like raisins. You look around and question the decision, thinking it would have been better to have gone golfing - or gone to grad school, stayed in Minneapolis, applied for the Peace Corps.

It took me all of college to accept the importance of art and theatre. I knew I loved it, but I couldn't rate its importance. It's easy to see the value of doctors, social workers, mechanics and teachers. We need them in society, even in the midst of an economic crisis. But theatre? Couldn't we survive on reality TV? Well, it's a long story, but I do believe in theatre. I believe in the importance and power of telling stories well, and I believe in art as an exploration, a question, an answer, a plea, a statement, an evaluation, a reflection, a hope and much more. I needed to write this paragraph because I need to remember these ideas when shivering on the edge of the dock wanting to get back in the car to go home.

Drug Dealers

Craigslist embodies everything sketchy about the internet. It is a place where anyone can post anything hoping to lure anyone into doing anything for them. I've been looking for apartments and jobs on this website and have "met" some real winners. First, there was a lady doing "peace work" all over Africa. She owned an apartment in Brooklyn and told me that she was too busy doing "peace work" and couldn't find anyone to take her apartment. Even though her emailed reply could have been written by an illiterate 3rd grader (really, it was horrible), I didn't suspect much until she asked me to send two months rent to her address (which wasn't in Africa). Once she got my money, she would send me the keys to the house. She told me that even though I couldn't see the apartment until I actually started renting it, I could enjoy her three skewed pictures plastered on the craigslist page. Really? Does anyone fall for this stuff?

I actually received four emails very similar to this one, but the shadiest one was from a man supposedly splitting time between France and Australia (random). I replied to his ad for a personal assistant, and he emailed me five minutes later. He told me that the job would be easy: he would send me packages every week, and I would need to forward them to destinations all over America. He was going to pay me a lot of money, but after a five minute internal debate, I decided to not get involved with the international drug trade.

I hope you are enjoying my blog. It's not going to be a linear life summery because I'm realizing that just like my life, I don't want a blog that is plot-driven.

New in Town

A few definitions:

The New York Subway - a metal box with windows that flies through and under the biggest city in America. Carries anything from hammered junkies to Wall Street's finest. Every class, type, size, ethnicity, and color of humanity clump together at rush hour like sardines while an eerie silence floats through the air and a monotone male caucasian voice calls out the stops. Babies cry, ipods rap, suited men smirk and students try to sleep as we fly in unison through the rat-infested tunnels waiting for our respective stops and thinking about what we'll do when we get there.

I think the subway is one of the most interesting places in the world. I guess I'm new to the whole experience, but where else are incredibly different people forced to share the same twenty by six foot space? It's a beautiful thing. I can barely stand it, and I've been making a point of starting conversations on almost every ride I take. Yesterday I sat next to a guy covered in skull tattoos who was reading a Martha Stuart book. What?! How could I not talk to him? It is a writer's paradise where characters sit next to you breathing the same air, waiting for the same stop.

The craziest thing about the subway, though, is the silence. At rush hour, we are crammed butt to butt, groin to groin, face to face with complete strangers. In Minnesota, the uncomfortable situation would force us into small talk. Not in New York. We all just stand there and pretend we have already arrived at our own destinations. Of course there is the guy in the back singing the newest Kanye West song to himself and the two girls next to the door gossiping about their mutual friend who is cheating on Ryan, her one-year boyfriend. But the rest of us? Nothing. I think it's hilarious. I think it is sad. I don't know what I think. It's weird how people can be lonely in a city of millions. I hate loneliness. I hate it.

Astoria, Queens- Twenty minutes from Manhattan. (I've found that in New York, you rate every place based on its proximity to Manhattan.) One of the most diverse places in New York. I heard over ten languages my first day here. Up and coming - which means that its close proximity to Manhattan will soon attract semi-rich people and make it more expensive next year. Greek restaurants, actors and anyone else you could imagine. My home.

My first five days in New York - Confusion, ambition, exhaustion, excitement, exploration, late nights, early mornings, new people, getting lost, job hunting, wine, subway, cooking, Twins losing, writing, prayer, dealing with a new kind of freedom.

Random notes:

I'm getting headshots taken next Thursday.

I joined a running club which runs through Central Park. They are intense, and I'll be sore tomorrow.

The Jump

I took swimming lessons when I was young. I loved them, and I have many memories of diving, bobbing, floating, etc. The most vivid memory I have, however, is the instant before jumping into the pool. My brothers and I took lessons at 8 in the morning. We crawled out of bed barely awake before our instructor blew the whistle to begin. We walked on the hard square-tiled pool deck and my stomach started to quiver. The dark blue water of the deep end would gloom in front of me, and in my mind it could have been the ocean. You couldn't see the bottom and any number of things could be lurking in the shadows. It looked so big and powerful and mysterious. I remember hearing the second blow which meant it was time to go in, and I remember being the last one to finally do it. I would walk to the edge and peer into the blueness and it felt like time stood still. I had no choice but to jump. Going back to Mom would mean humiliation, but it was hard to understand the fifteen minute change from my warm flannel-sheeted bed to shivering on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. How the hell did I get here? I remember counting down from five, closing my eyes, holding my breath and taking the leap.

I arrived in New York yesterday morning. I had been anticipating that moment for a long time, but it still surprised me. The flight felt like seconds. I talked with a man from Hawaii who told me that everyone is motivated by either love or fear. He said that every action from the bombings of the World Trade Center to the marriage of high school sweethearts springs from one of these. He made me think, and as I left the plane I hoped my adventure was backed by the love. I grabbed my bags and headed to the entrance and realized I had no idea where I was going. I had forgotten to get the address off of my email, and then I realized that even if I did know where to go, I had no idea how to get there. I remember walking to the corner of the airport and looking out at the sea of people flowing past me. Where was I? What was I doing? And where the hell was I going? My stomach started to turn inside me and time slowed a bit. Two hours later, a phone call, a bus ride, and forty-five minutes of trudging my two suitcases and two carry-ons, I was sitting in my apartment in Astoria, Queens. I dumped my stuff on the floor and moved to the window to look outside. I was living in New York City. I had taken the jump.