Writing 4/4/14

A man lost among his thoughts. He looks up from his writing, scanning the room, which most definitely includes the audience. He's a 31, young in his mind and in society's too, living in New York City. Washington Heights. He doesn't speak Spanish beyond "Gracias," which he tosses around every chance he gets in order to feel "immersed" in the culture. In reality it just makes him look even more white in a decidedly Dominican neighborhood. He walks with little to no fear, even after dark. See he lived in Detroit for four years. Moving from Iowa to Detroit was the culture shock. Detroit to New York? Bigger city, sure, but a safer city. He wears his Detroithood like a badge of courage. Naivety probably, but the fears in his life don't include his physical surroundings.

He's lonely. When he's not out on the road working, he spends most of his time in his apartment at his computer. Oftentimes he doesn't shower until well into the afternoon, after his two cups of coffee, countless checks of his Facebook and email, until he finally gives into the nagging thought of "gotta go to the gym." Money is his biggest enemy, he thinks. This city is expensive and the old adage of, "If you leave your apartment in New York City you'll automatically spend $20" rings true everyday he ventures into the city.

He's stuck. He's an actor.

He's stuck.

He's stuck.

With a Hamlet-like inability to take action, he struggles to make his "dreams" or other people's "dreams" come true. The hardest part about trying to "make it" as an actor in this city is to focus; not get side-tracked by everything else that life can throw at you. Relationships, friendships, day job, searching for a day job. All this leads to daily questions of, "What the hell am I doing here?" For him, New York is best summarized like this: Once a day, when the sun is shining and he's been pounding the pavement from audition to audition, he thinks to himself, "Man, I can't believe I live in New York." And once a day, when the sun sets at four and he's ass to elbow in an overcrowded subway car, he thinks to himself, "Man, I can't believe I live in New York."

Greatest city in the world.

Has he become negative? Has he become many of the same qualities that he found so unattractive in his former love? Diagnosing his own feelings has never been his strong suit. He allows the other voices to shout over that little truth-telling voice inside himself.

If he has changed, and not for the better, what can be done? Accept the change, if he feels like the changes are for the better. Revert back to a former self, if he feels he was a better person before. Or continue to grow. Nurture the good parts in himself and squash the bad parts.