Let me be brutally honest. It’s my birthday in a few days, which always brings on big-picture musings. Maybe if I just say it out loud, the solar disinfectant will do the rest.
I’m not particularly happy in California, and I realize most of this has been my fault – I haven’t gone out of my way to make friends, and despite constant meetings in the Biz, I’m a bit of a shut-in. Sure, you can always decide to be happy with a place, but then again, anyone who knows me knows I enjoy being pissed off much more than showing magnanimous restraint.
As Tessa calls it, New York is my oxygen. Being at the farm, seeing my family, cavorting with old friends and just being back on the East Coast provides constant joy, but I can’t be a whale, spending my life underwater only to rise to the surface to inhale great gulps of air. I need to be able to breathe where I live.
Besides, leaving California is an impossibility right now. Lucy just got into the kindergarten/grade school of her (well, our) dreams, Tessa is thriving, and we live in a great spot on the ocean. And coming back to NY now, as much as I don’t want to think like an un-evolved twit, would feel like a massive failure on my part.
As writers go, we’ve been super blessed. We’ve gotten a great script deal almost every year since 2004, which meant food on the table, bigger meetings, and still being a player in the game. Twice we’ve come close to shooting our own pilot. Lots of people in our avocation would consider us living the dream, but for Tessa and I, we never cared about the Hollywood thing, the incidentals, the starfuckery… we only wanted to be working on great shows.
And so I live in the liminal between two places: a dreamland I can’t let go of, and a homeland that won’t let go of me. I spent 25 years making my friends, I just don’t know if I have the energy to make any more. Your people are your people, your tribe is the only one that can make you laugh.
I sat on the deck I made today, staring out over the expanse of the Taconics and the Catskills, and tried to breathe, but it’s hard to relax when you feel like your time is on loan from another place. Like all long-distance relationships, there’s too much pressure on the fleeting weekends, and too much imparted during the longing looks at airports. I want the same thing as the Buddha, Confucius and Buckaroo Banzai: to know that wherever you go, there you are.
I think Lucy snapped this pic with my camera