I'm Only A Man, Part 19: My Life in Boxes
This isn't going to be a full-fledged column; just wanted to write a brief something about the state of my life and also touch briefly on the strange case of Bob Saget.
Since I moved to New York, I've worked at four different publications: Business Week, Mutual Funds Magazine, This Old House and, most recently, Field & Stream and Outdoor Life. I've been a graphic designer/art director in the marketing department at all of these places. Each time I left a job, I packed up boxes and had them messengered to my new office. Today I am packing boxes that will be sent to my apartment to accompany all of the other boxes of stuff from old apartment. Tomorrow morning I will sleep in, and when I wake up I'll try to figure out how the hell to fit my entire life and work into a one room studio. I'm pretty sure a trip to the Container Store will be involved.
I've been wanting to leave my day job for years now and I anticipated my last day on the job to be a happy one. After all, I'm about to take a great leap; forge a new career for myself as a writer, comedy producer and manager. In other words, I'm about to start chasing dreams for a living and I've got a slight financial cushion that will allow me to do that. I should be dancing a jig right now. I'm not.
This is, of course, as frightening as it should be exciting. But that's not what's bugging me. I work well under pressure. (That's probably the reason I procrastinate so much...what's the point of getting a jump on something that's due next week when I could do it just as well in a panic the night before?) I have to prove myself over the next few months and, frankly, I don't doubt that I can.
I think what I'm afraid of is being alone with me. For the first time in my life, my time will pretty much be at my discretion. No home room bell, no basketball practice, no 8:00 AM lecture, no 9:00 AM meeting, no husband or boyfriend waiting for me at the end of the day. Just me, all the things I've wanted to do but couldn't because I didn't have the time, and all the things I left behind because I didn't have the heart. Leaving this job is the final nail in something; I'm just not sure if it's a coffin or the door to the past.
The other day I saw a poster for "Farce of the Penguins" with Bob Saget's name above the title in big letters, and I thought, "Oh, Bob...why?" Bob Saget. The man best known for the reprehensibly awful "Full House" and the absurdly hacky "America's Funniest" series. I saw that sign and thought, "Oh, Bob...come on, this is beneath you." Why? Because of The Aristocrats. Comics who know him know Bob Saget as a funny, off-color guy with a good heart. America knows him as a squeaky clean schlub. I took the brief portrait of him in The Aristocrats very seriously and in my head he has become this tragic character (a very wealthy tragic character). I wanted him to come out with something raw, absurd and provocative after that. Something that would scream, "I'm an artist! Now go fuck yourself!" But that would be career suicide for him. Even in The Aristocrats his entire telling of the joke was peppered with anxiety and apologies.
As they say in The American President, "politics is perception." But it's not just politics, it's life itself. How other people see you defines you more than how you see yourself. But I'm about to enter a stage of my life where for much of the time, I'm alone. I'm not sure how that will change me.
I wanted to walk out of here in a blaze of glory, Remo Williams-style, with a match tossed over my shoulder and a quip on my tongue. But I've found myself walking away from so much lately it's hard to have a real sense of where I'm going. When your life has for so long been about endings, how long does it take to morph into being about a beginning? A day, a week...years? I know there are some people who look at me as constantly walking away from things, while I've been of the mind that I was always moving forward. But standing here right now, in this one moment, with my toes kissing the edge of something vast, I'm not sure if I'm about to fall or leap, and whether it will be forward or backwards.
All I know is (and all I have known is) something has to happen. Choices are inevitable. Either you make them or someone makes them for you. I have made mine and I have the boxes to prove it. How I feel about it, I suppose, probably doesn't matter as much. This isn't Groundhog Day; I don't get years and years to get my life right, to figure out all the angles and plan out my choices by taking into account the impact of the lightest breeze. I had an idea of what I wanted my life to be and I have risked almost everything for it and removed almost everything that wasn't it. That was a painful process and not just for me. I know that.
I suppose that's why I'm not excited for my last day at work. All the times I imagined it I anticipated my friends and family being proud of and happy for me; I imagined being proud of myself. Instead I just feel like, "Ok...what's next?" Perhaps that's for the best.
Tomorrow morning I'm making biscuits and eggs and coffee. That sounds like a beginning.
Since I moved to New York, I've worked at four different publications: Business Week, Mutual Funds Magazine, This Old House and, most recently, Field & Stream and Outdoor Life. I've been a graphic designer/art director in the marketing department at all of these places. Each time I left a job, I packed up boxes and had them messengered to my new office. Today I am packing boxes that will be sent to my apartment to accompany all of the other boxes of stuff from old apartment. Tomorrow morning I will sleep in, and when I wake up I'll try to figure out how the hell to fit my entire life and work into a one room studio. I'm pretty sure a trip to the Container Store will be involved.
I've been wanting to leave my day job for years now and I anticipated my last day on the job to be a happy one. After all, I'm about to take a great leap; forge a new career for myself as a writer, comedy producer and manager. In other words, I'm about to start chasing dreams for a living and I've got a slight financial cushion that will allow me to do that. I should be dancing a jig right now. I'm not.
This is, of course, as frightening as it should be exciting. But that's not what's bugging me. I work well under pressure. (That's probably the reason I procrastinate so much...what's the point of getting a jump on something that's due next week when I could do it just as well in a panic the night before?) I have to prove myself over the next few months and, frankly, I don't doubt that I can.
I think what I'm afraid of is being alone with me. For the first time in my life, my time will pretty much be at my discretion. No home room bell, no basketball practice, no 8:00 AM lecture, no 9:00 AM meeting, no husband or boyfriend waiting for me at the end of the day. Just me, all the things I've wanted to do but couldn't because I didn't have the time, and all the things I left behind because I didn't have the heart. Leaving this job is the final nail in something; I'm just not sure if it's a coffin or the door to the past.
The other day I saw a poster for "Farce of the Penguins" with Bob Saget's name above the title in big letters, and I thought, "Oh, Bob...why?" Bob Saget. The man best known for the reprehensibly awful "Full House" and the absurdly hacky "America's Funniest" series. I saw that sign and thought, "Oh, Bob...come on, this is beneath you." Why? Because of The Aristocrats. Comics who know him know Bob Saget as a funny, off-color guy with a good heart. America knows him as a squeaky clean schlub. I took the brief portrait of him in The Aristocrats very seriously and in my head he has become this tragic character (a very wealthy tragic character). I wanted him to come out with something raw, absurd and provocative after that. Something that would scream, "I'm an artist! Now go fuck yourself!" But that would be career suicide for him. Even in The Aristocrats his entire telling of the joke was peppered with anxiety and apologies.
As they say in The American President, "politics is perception." But it's not just politics, it's life itself. How other people see you defines you more than how you see yourself. But I'm about to enter a stage of my life where for much of the time, I'm alone. I'm not sure how that will change me.
I wanted to walk out of here in a blaze of glory, Remo Williams-style, with a match tossed over my shoulder and a quip on my tongue. But I've found myself walking away from so much lately it's hard to have a real sense of where I'm going. When your life has for so long been about endings, how long does it take to morph into being about a beginning? A day, a week...years? I know there are some people who look at me as constantly walking away from things, while I've been of the mind that I was always moving forward. But standing here right now, in this one moment, with my toes kissing the edge of something vast, I'm not sure if I'm about to fall or leap, and whether it will be forward or backwards.
All I know is (and all I have known is) something has to happen. Choices are inevitable. Either you make them or someone makes them for you. I have made mine and I have the boxes to prove it. How I feel about it, I suppose, probably doesn't matter as much. This isn't Groundhog Day; I don't get years and years to get my life right, to figure out all the angles and plan out my choices by taking into account the impact of the lightest breeze. I had an idea of what I wanted my life to be and I have risked almost everything for it and removed almost everything that wasn't it. That was a painful process and not just for me. I know that.
I suppose that's why I'm not excited for my last day at work. All the times I imagined it I anticipated my friends and family being proud of and happy for me; I imagined being proud of myself. Instead I just feel like, "Ok...what's next?" Perhaps that's for the best.
Tomorrow morning I'm making biscuits and eggs and coffee. That sounds like a beginning.
posted by Carol at 9:07 AM
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8 Comments:
Carol - I'm in awe of what you're doing. Moving forward is sometimes the hardest damn thing to do. Not long after my divorce I finally realized that no one is going to make me happy but me - not my wife, not my family - only me. So I move forward too.
Best of luck in this new part of your life. You're amazing, and don't forget it.
Damn straight, Hartsell. You are amazing.
I sincerely hope your success eclipses anything your imagination currently holds. It takes a lot of guts to do what you're doing.
Good luck with it.
Congratulations, sounds like a good gig as long as you get used to the working alone. If we keep getting the "Office Overhearsions(tm)" I will begin to wonder if it was a wise move for you...
You are rapidly becoming one of my favorite writers.
So proud of you!
xo
SJ
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