Month: November 2013

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Then suddenly, and without warning

I’ve survived. Of course I have. But lately, it appears as though I’ve been enduring a series of unforeseen incidents. No one was hurt in the creation of these events. (I’ve never felt like a victim. Can’t say why, but I never have.) However, I’m starting to wonder if the power of living a life without compromise might have something to do with planning. Certainly NONE of these surprises were planned. That’s the nature of surprise, after all. Yet I find that, when I’m caught in the middle of complex emotions and rational thought, I get nervous.

Frankly, it’s the only time I find myself getting nervous. And oddly tongue-tied.

I staunchly maintain that being on tour with both the Missoula Children’s Theatre and the Young People’s Theatre Project prepared me for anything. On the road, you learn to expect the unexpected, and take it in stride when things don’t quite work out as planned. (There’s that word again … planned.) To calm others down prior to theatrical events, I tell them the story of the two pee-wees playing pumpkins in Cinderella. These were five- and six-year-olds dressed as pumpkins. I  would sing a song with them, and they would do a little pumpkin dance. Believe me, no one cares about you when you are surrounded by 20 very small children dressed as pumpkins. So, there we were, me and the pumpkins, waiting to go onstage probably somewhere in the frozen tundra of Alberta, Canada. And there were two pumpkins clearly at opposite ends of the stage-fright spectrum. One was calm, the other was crazed, but clearly had a sense of humor. The calm one said, “I hope I remember my song.” The other one said, “I hope I don’t spit up blood.” To this day, whenever something goes awry on-stage I think to myself, “No one ever spit up blood doing this.”

So tell me, why … in the midst of not one, but two catastrophic computer failures … I became that guy. You know the one. The asshole on the other end of the phone that blames you for things not working. Or not working out. Or not working as planned. Try as I might, I tend to think of these things in terms of balance. True … my livelihood is at stake … but I’ve become a strong advocate for technology. So much so it should never fail me. Right? I’m pissed and won’t take no for an answer and … nervous. At my worst. Not my finest hour.

And then, there I am, driving home from the grocery store yesterday with turkey in tow feeling useless. I mean it. At the time, in my world no PC=no worth. No value whatsoever. I’m talking bottom-of-the-barrel stuff now.

When suddenly, and without warning, my phone rings.

Unfamiliar number, but I answer it anyway.

“Mr. Byington? It’s [name of former student]. I don’t know if you remember me, but I just wanted to thank you for teaching me way back when. I want you to know that you really made a difference in my life, and I’m very grateful for the effort and time you put in to working with all of us.”

(I swear to you I’m not making this up.)

And I’m blubbering like a baby when I say, “Well, [name of former student], I want to thank you! You really made a difference in my life, and this call couldn’t have come at a better time.”

Day made. Nerves calmed. PC fixed.

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Among my souveniers

So … it’s been a while, I know. While I’d like to apologize for that, I’m not going to. I’ve been busy. New plays, new work challenges, new friends. It’s been a while, but much of it has been new. All new. And that’s a good thing. Really. It’s a very, very good thing.

I started a project last week. I have a rolling file, full of all kinds of stuff. You know, bank statements, after-visit printouts from the doctor, school photos of friends’ kids. The stuff of life. The stuff, at one point, I figured I’d probably like to keep. And although I’m sure a list of the stuff I kept would interest all of you. I’m letting you know that I was pretty surprised by the stuff I let go. It was mostly cards. Lots of cards. Opening night cards, Christmas cards, lots of sentiment.

Some of it was really old, like the ticket stubs to my first Broadway show (Kander and Ebb’s The Life) Some of it was funny, like the card from a director friend telling me to “Break a nostril,” on opening night of Noises, Off! the first time I did the play. Some of it was sweet, like the note of extreme gratitude for stepping into a role with lots of lines and very little rehearsal. It was all real. It was all hugely felt, I’m sure. And I enjoyed looking at it one more time before I let it go. It started me thinking about all that stuff in the closet behind me. Who’s going to want that when I’m dead? I mean … why am i keeping it in the closet? I’m not going to use it. And I’m certain that Abel Ganz poster, which hung in my apartment for so many years, while at the time was really special to me … well … it no longer holds that much meaning. So, what do I do? (Look out closet, I’m gunning for you.)

My wife says I’m a purger. I think she’s onto something. I just don’t really keep stuff around very long.

I have this recurring dream. I might have mentioned it before. It’s kind of a nightmare in terms of the anxiety it causes. It’s always pretty much the same. I won’t bore you with the details, but the log line for the dream is:

Grant discovers he has an apartment he never moved out of, and owes 20 years’ back rent.

I’m not making this up. It’s a pretty nice place, near a river … in an unnamed town, and the long-benevolent landlord has died and his estate is asking for a shit-ton of rent. And the apartment is full of stuff that I didn’t know I even had. Maybe that’s where all the stuff I purge is accumulating.

Today I pitched a lot of stuff into the recycle bin, and piled up quite a pile of receipts onto the shredder. I’ll run them through later … closer to the day we pull our recycling out into the street. Here’s the last thing I want to share.

I came across a piece of construction paper. It was probably from an exercise with a work team a long time ago. It was probably pinned to my back, and it was probably prefaced by a speech that went something along the lines of, “Write on everyone’s paper a word or phrase that best describes that person.” It might have been an exercise in awareness building … you know, the whole “How others view you,” type deal. I don’t really know. But here’s the words and phrases in no particular order:

Brilliant strategist—vulnerable  😉

Grounded in what he does best

A crack up — in a good way

Notices everything

Honesty

Teacher!

Straight forward

Knows his stuff and a delight to be around — the one to trust with celebrities

Guru — oracle — speaker of truth

Incredible storyteller

Brilliant writer

↑This too

So … thank you. All of you, whomever you are. I really, really appreciate it. But today, I’m letting it go.