Culmination

I used to get terrified about doing schoolwork. Anxiety attacks over doing the simplest assignments were crippling, and I had to drop out of college for a semester and deal with it. It was the thing that made me a bad student as an undergrad, it’s the thing that made me miss an opportunity to go to UCLA for grad school five years ago, and it’s the thing that made me terrified I would do horribly at DePaul.

But I guess it’s different when I’m spending my time and efforts doing only that which I want to be doing with my life. I’m not forced to get that well-rounded Bachelor’s degree, taking classes that have little to do with my interests; all the reading and studying I do is for the sole purpose of following my heart’s desire. I go to the theatre two or three times a week, notepad in hand, and I get to go as more of an active participant than a passive observer. Most of our reading materials were designed to entertain the masses, which makes the subject of my fifteen page thesis (due next week, better get started) more of a hobby than a chore. Once upon a time I had one of the secrets to happiness whispered into my ear – find what you love to do, then find how to make your living doing that. I can verify that this is absolutely true. I only wish I’d realized it wasn’t supposed to be easy, so I wouldn’t have been so discouraged by my many failures before I got here. Not that I wasn’t told. I just didn’t realize.

There’s something else I’ve heard many times, many ways; sometimes things go wrong in life so we can tell the difference, and appreciate it, when things go right. By the time I decided I needed to go back to school and get what I’d cheated myself out of the first time around, I had been out of college for longer than it took me to go through college. I had a debt equivalent to more than a year’s pay. I was still going to work wearing a unitard and a cape. I cringed every time a customer was certain I was really a professional actor just moonlighting as a waiter, because I knew the opposite was true. Fear and doubt held me stronger than any ropes or chains ever could.

Inspired by the words of two artists I admire, Stevie Ray Vaughan and J.D. Challenger, I knew if I spent one more day compromising my dreams I’d be doing it the rest of my life. The fire of my soul would have vanished with neither a bang nor a whimper, but rather I’d wake up one day wondering how long it had been since I’d remembered what it once had been like to dream that particular dream. I decided being a failure was far, far more appealing than being a quitter. At least then I could respect myself for having tried. But it turns out I’m not too shabby at this “acting” business. My time spent with MXAT verified this. After that it was just a matter of progressive choices, fortune, perseverance, and patience as the pages on the calendar fluttered away before I found myself landed in the right place at the right time.

Upon reflection, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I didn’t get started sooner, and I may even be grateful for it. I’ve seen the abysmal consequences of quitting without devoting myself fully to theatre, leaving my heart to suffocate under the oppressive weight of a discarded dream. I’ve come to learn exactly how passionately I love what I do. If I had pursued this path before I made these realizations, I may never have had the tenacity to make the most of the opportunity which now envelopes me like a warm blanket.

Failure is a tool. When used incorrectly, it’s nothing more than a dead albatross around a sailor’s neck. When used properly, it defines the edges of capability and provides a map for improvement. Follow the compass within your heart, keep your bearings, and keep propelling yourself, and soon you’ll discover you’re living in the land of your dreams during your waking hours instead of merely visiting while you sleep.

Amen.