Goodbye, Dallas

In less than a day, I'll finally be leaving here and going there. "Are you excited?" I'll hear. "Are you scared?" others say. I don't really have an answer to those questions. I got depressed after losing the opportunity for Moscow. I know this probably means better things are on the horizon, everyone says so. But what things can match what I lost?

Here's what I mean. I screwed up a chance—a very good chance—to study at UCLA for my masters degree (see a blog I wrote last December or so for the details on that one). I'd have graduated by now if I had gotten in. At any rate, when I got the opportunity to go to Moscow, I was handed the chance to make up for that error, so I went at it full force. Yes, there were other graduate schools I could have tried for, but they were more expensive, and honestly—they weren't in another country.

The biggest part of going to school in Russia was actually going to RUSSIA. And not just going, but living there for three years, learning another culture, another language, another perspective through which to view the world. Everyone here teaches method acting, somehow or another based on Stanislavski's teachings. In Moscow, I'm learning Stanislavski's method from Stanislavski's school, his theatre, his students. Essentially, I'd have been Stanislavski's grandson (maybe great-grandson), learning the Russian technique in the Russians' house from the Russians themselves.

What local opportunity can compete with that?

I didn't lose Heather, which is wonderful. I didn't lose a job, not really, for who can't get a job in Chicago with eleven years of restaurant experience? What I lost, what was my favorite part of going, was the chance to live in a country whose culture I've romanticized and held enthralled since I was a kid.

DAMN it.

I have no idea what awaits me in Chicago. I know what my plans are, which include a) unpacking and helping set up our new home, b) getting a job working at/taking improv classes from Second City, and c) getting ready for grad school auditions in February.

Yes, I'm excited. Yes, I'm scared. But I can't tell the difference.

Does that answer your question?

When I get depressed, or lost emotionally, I always turn back to one story: Sandman, written by Neil Gaiman. The first book is all I had to read this time (though, of course, I'll finish off the entire series again). The main character, Dream, is captured and imprisoned for a period of several years. After breaking free, he takes revenge on his captor, then begins a quest to obtain the items stolen from him during his incarceration.

Once he's done, he's left with a sense of great emptiness, and loss of purpose. Smacked in the head with a loaf of bread, he's told to quit feeling sorry for himself; if he wants to find something else to do with his life, he should DO it. But don't sit around and complain that there's nothing to do, nothing to be done.

I built up so much momentum and purpose and focus for Russia that once it was taken away from me, I felt empty. Now my target has changed, but my purpose has not.

We must adapt and change as the world changes, or we will die. For all of us, there is a limit to how much we can change. Perhaps between now and death, I shall find that limit.

And now that I'm merely philosophizing, I shall go to sleep.