Dear Jack,
Goodness, it's been awhile. For that, I am sorry. Life has been ridiculously crazy here lately. I can't decide what time zone I'm meant to be in. In the past few months I have visited every single one in the contiguous United States. I confess I did not enjoy California as much as I would have hoped. I'll leave that to you and Josh. ;) The six hours I spent in Denver was enough for me, simply because I was ready to move on and be elsewhere. My time in Texas was well spent, but only now that I'm curled up in my apartment in New York do I truly find a sense of belonging.
There's something about this place that makes me feel right at home. Even though I don't know my neighborhood well, or any human beings other than my roommate (who I was fortunate enough to meet through the program in San Francisco which started this whole kerfuffle), I'm still happy to be here. Everyday I get up, walk outside and breathe the slightly smogified air, and think this is what I've been missing out on.
As you may remember from our time spent in classes, my favorite form of NY travel is the subway. I try to ride it everyday, and as I'm living in Queens for the next year and my job[s] are/will more than likely be located in Manhattan, that goal is met more often than not. The rides are never without their share of drama. This afternoon for instance, I stepped off of the R and directly into a fight between two high-school aged girls. It took me a moment to realize what was going on, simply because I have become one of those people who likes to travel with ipod buds in their ears listening to the soundtrack of their lives that hopefully match what they see in the world around them. The fight did not exactly compliment the Coldplay ballad I had ringing in my ears at the moment.
After a few harrowing moments, in which I scampered to the other side of the track as quickly as I could, it became obvious that the fight would have no clear winner. Because they were school kids, surrounded by their friends, many of the by-standers refused to get involved. Not that I blame them. I had been shoved and jostled enough. You weren't going to see me get involved. I exchanged looks with a few people and I saw the same things in their eyes that I'm sure was reflected in my own-- an odd mixture of fear, annoyance, and pity. In our shared experiences, we also shared smiles.
The movement the train cars make while riding through the tunnels are unpredictable at best. I can stand in a subway car without hanging onto a rail if I must, but I prefer to curl up in a corner seat and glide through the darkness wrapped up in nothing but my own thoughts. It's easy to think that you're all alone on a subway. Most often you stare out the window into nothingness. The darkness intermittently broken by flashes of light and the occasional station.
Sometimes though, you pass another train. For a moment you're taken by surprise, your island disappears and you are reminded that the whole of humanity is closer than you let yourself think for a moment. The trains hurtle through the tunnels, both vying for the lead in this imaginary race to nowhere. For a moment, all you can see is the outline of the opposing train, but then, as the lights begin to flash with more and more regularity, you realize that you can now see into the other train, into the lives of the other people traveling. You stare for a moment, wondering, hoping if anyone has realized what you have just discovered. A covert glance to your left and right confirms that everyone on your train is wrapped up in their own thoughts, ipods, and books, so your attention wanders to the other train.
You stare through the windows and wonder if you can see straight to their souls. What are they thinking? Does she think her book is good, or a waste of time? What song is next on his playlist? Most importantly, you wonder where they are going...
The trains start to separate, pulling away from each other slowly but steadily. You keep staring out the window hoping that someone else will notice what is going on, when suddenly, through the windows of both trains, someone catches your eye. You see the slight shock followed quickly by a smile. A shared experience once more.
The darkness consumes you as the tunnel closes the connection, but the smile on your face stays.
Always,
John
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Speechless
Dear Jack,
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama.
I, Megan Lee, just applied for admission to the 2008-2009 academic program to receive my MFA in Acting from Yale, School of Drama.
I just paid $100 to have my application rejected from Yale, School of Drama.Excuse me just a minute, won't you? I think I have to vomit.
Why on earth did I just do this? Why? I'm not getting in. They only take 16 people. 16!!!! 16 of the most talented individuals across the country, and some are Yale undergrads to boot. They're going to find people with real theatre degrees, not me!
I need to vomit again.
The good news is I have a month to prepare for my audition.
Holy shit. I only have a month.
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama, with only a month to prepare... Yes, I definitely need to vomit.
Always,
John
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama.
I, Megan Lee, just applied for admission to the 2008-2009 academic program to receive my MFA in Acting from Yale, School of Drama.
I just paid $100 to have my application rejected from Yale, School of Drama.Excuse me just a minute, won't you? I think I have to vomit.
Why on earth did I just do this? Why? I'm not getting in. They only take 16 people. 16!!!! 16 of the most talented individuals across the country, and some are Yale undergrads to boot. They're going to find people with real theatre degrees, not me!
I need to vomit again.
The good news is I have a month to prepare for my audition.
Holy shit. I only have a month.
I just applied to Yale, School of Drama, with only a month to prepare... Yes, I definitely need to vomit.
Always,
John
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Argh
Dear Jack,
No time. The inn flooded a few weeks ago, boss shanghied laptop. Trying to keep up, but no use so far. Not ignoring you, love you and Harry Potter.
Always,
John
No time. The inn flooded a few weeks ago, boss shanghied laptop. Trying to keep up, but no use so far. Not ignoring you, love you and Harry Potter.
Always,
John
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wildlife
Dear Jack,
I think I have just completed the mandatory course of country living. Up until now, I have simply been a lost city girl parading around Salado as nothing more than someone who thought she truly didn't belong there. I mean, every time I see a deer in the road, I freeze up, slam on my brakes, and pray that it runs the other way. I've seen squirrels, wild birds (turkeys!), armadillos, a squished turtle or two, but tonight took the cake.
Tonight I was silent witness to the running of the skunk.
Everyone with a nose knows that they exist. Every now and again there is a smell emanating from a dark carcass on the side of the road, but a real, live skunk? Never. They are the chupacabra of country living, the Loch Ness Monster. A legend of mythic proportions, something one knows exists, but never actually sees.
I don't know what scared this little guy, but shy friend of Bambi, this Flower was not. As I was driving home tonight, I slowed on Center Circle, scanning the sides of the road closely for deer when all of a sudden he (for I have deemed him male whether or not he likes it) bolted from the side of the road. Of course, my first thought was "Deer!", but then my brain caught up with my reflexes and I realized that the "deer" was a little short. And dark, and had a bizarre white stripe any hairstylist would love to study and attempt to duplicate to create Hollywood's next hair craze.
He was gone before I could really get a good look at him, but I couldn't get over the fact that I had seen a skunk. I guess there's a first time for everything.
Now if only I knew whether or not this encounter would bring about luck of any kind.
Always,
John
I think I have just completed the mandatory course of country living. Up until now, I have simply been a lost city girl parading around Salado as nothing more than someone who thought she truly didn't belong there. I mean, every time I see a deer in the road, I freeze up, slam on my brakes, and pray that it runs the other way. I've seen squirrels, wild birds (turkeys!), armadillos, a squished turtle or two, but tonight took the cake.
Tonight I was silent witness to the running of the skunk.
Everyone with a nose knows that they exist. Every now and again there is a smell emanating from a dark carcass on the side of the road, but a real, live skunk? Never. They are the chupacabra of country living, the Loch Ness Monster. A legend of mythic proportions, something one knows exists, but never actually sees.
I don't know what scared this little guy, but shy friend of Bambi, this Flower was not. As I was driving home tonight, I slowed on Center Circle, scanning the sides of the road closely for deer when all of a sudden he (for I have deemed him male whether or not he likes it) bolted from the side of the road. Of course, my first thought was "Deer!", but then my brain caught up with my reflexes and I realized that the "deer" was a little short. And dark, and had a bizarre white stripe any hairstylist would love to study and attempt to duplicate to create Hollywood's next hair craze.
He was gone before I could really get a good look at him, but I couldn't get over the fact that I had seen a skunk. I guess there's a first time for everything.
Now if only I knew whether or not this encounter would bring about luck of any kind.
Always,
John
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Nostalgia
Dear Jack,
I can divide my life into two categories- BA and AA. I've said this for a long time, and while the obvious abbreviations are misleading, (neither stand for Bachelor of Arts nor Alcoholics Anonymous) both are extremely accurate. Ten years ago today I will have left for Australia and New Zealand. My life easily falls into the before and after categories of that excursion.
I've realized this for a long time, but nothing brought it as clearly to mind as a discussion I just finished with my boss. We were talking about my current production and my multiple year goal set and plans. He made the statement that even though I'm talented, he didn't feel I was ready to branch out to New York yet. I agreed, and said that was why my plan was a multi-year set. I have some growing to do.
Our conversation progressed, each of us telling formative stories from our childhood. His involved his struggle with his sexuality, mine involved an outward expression of behavior based on an older sister whose behavior left much to be desired. But, ultimately, I said- I make decisions based on who I am and what I believe to be right.
He became very quiet. For a moment, neither of us said a word. Finally, he just sighed and said that he made his decisions based on what his current life position demanded of him.
I just looked at him for a moment before saying, "You don't know who you are, do you?"
His eyes found mine, quizzical. I tried to explain as best I could. For as much as I am the Weekend Manager of Inn on the Creek, or an actress, I am first and foremost Megan. There are fundamental things about me that will never change. Will is so caught up in being what he is that he has neglected to find out who he is. I told him that this made me sad for him.
For as much as both of our journeys are ones of discovery, my journey is from myself, to discover the world around me. Will has found the world, but lost himself. And I realized in that moment, that a similar moment has shaped my life more than I ever thought possible.
Ten years ago today, I left for Australia and never looked back.
Always,
John
I can divide my life into two categories- BA and AA. I've said this for a long time, and while the obvious abbreviations are misleading, (neither stand for Bachelor of Arts nor Alcoholics Anonymous) both are extremely accurate. Ten years ago today I will have left for Australia and New Zealand. My life easily falls into the before and after categories of that excursion.
I've realized this for a long time, but nothing brought it as clearly to mind as a discussion I just finished with my boss. We were talking about my current production and my multiple year goal set and plans. He made the statement that even though I'm talented, he didn't feel I was ready to branch out to New York yet. I agreed, and said that was why my plan was a multi-year set. I have some growing to do.
Our conversation progressed, each of us telling formative stories from our childhood. His involved his struggle with his sexuality, mine involved an outward expression of behavior based on an older sister whose behavior left much to be desired. But, ultimately, I said- I make decisions based on who I am and what I believe to be right.
He became very quiet. For a moment, neither of us said a word. Finally, he just sighed and said that he made his decisions based on what his current life position demanded of him.
I just looked at him for a moment before saying, "You don't know who you are, do you?"
His eyes found mine, quizzical. I tried to explain as best I could. For as much as I am the Weekend Manager of Inn on the Creek, or an actress, I am first and foremost Megan. There are fundamental things about me that will never change. Will is so caught up in being what he is that he has neglected to find out who he is. I told him that this made me sad for him.
For as much as both of our journeys are ones of discovery, my journey is from myself, to discover the world around me. Will has found the world, but lost himself. And I realized in that moment, that a similar moment has shaped my life more than I ever thought possible.
Ten years ago today, I left for Australia and never looked back.
Always,
John
Monday, May 28, 2007
Stress
Dear Jack,
Right now I am sitting quietly, listening to the rain, with my feet propped up on the coffee table. This is the first time I have had in over a week to simply sit and breathe. With my luck though, the phone will ring at any moment, destroying the semblance of calm I have finally managed to at least fictionalize for myself.
My boss' mother-in-law (or would be his mother-in-law if those kind of marriages were legal here) has brain cancer. They discovered it three weeks ago and my boss and his partner have been running back and forth from Salado to Tyler nonstop since. It's been rough of all of us, them especially. Will has left me in charge of the Inn, which is fine, but tiring. And the play is opening this weekend. Right now I don't know how that's going to work. My guess is not well.
I'm at such as loss as to what to do for them. All I can do is try to keep things running here as smoothly as possible. We shall see.
Right now, I'm going to concentrate on breathing.
Always,
John
Right now I am sitting quietly, listening to the rain, with my feet propped up on the coffee table. This is the first time I have had in over a week to simply sit and breathe. With my luck though, the phone will ring at any moment, destroying the semblance of calm I have finally managed to at least fictionalize for myself.
My boss' mother-in-law (or would be his mother-in-law if those kind of marriages were legal here) has brain cancer. They discovered it three weeks ago and my boss and his partner have been running back and forth from Salado to Tyler nonstop since. It's been rough of all of us, them especially. Will has left me in charge of the Inn, which is fine, but tiring. And the play is opening this weekend. Right now I don't know how that's going to work. My guess is not well.
I'm at such as loss as to what to do for them. All I can do is try to keep things running here as smoothly as possible. We shall see.
Right now, I'm going to concentrate on breathing.
Always,
John
Friday, May 18, 2007
Frustration
Dear Jack,
Right now I want to rip out my eyes, dangle them in front of a rabid dog, and see what comes of all the blood, gore, and decimation. *sigh* There are times when I really hate being management. As a mere peon, one can be slightly rude, or say things like "I don't know, allow me to get the manager for you." When you are the manager, there is no such reprieve.
Take, for instance, the fact that I just spent the last hour showing a couple around the inn. They had already booked separate rooms for this evening and tomorrow evening in order to "see more of our quaint establishment." That's fine, no big deal, happens all the time. BUT! When they got here, the wife saw that there was a bathtub with a handheld shower instead of a walk-in shower. She threw a hissy fit and demanded to see other rooms that were available. So, being the kind, patient, professional that I am, I showed them around to other rooms in which no one was staying this evening. Three rooms later they finally decided to stay in the same room which they had rented for tomorrow night.
My patience level has gotten dangerously low. This is how weekends work. I have just enough patience to go from Friday morning at 11am to Sunday afternoon at roughly 3pm before I start losing it. That is on nice, relaxing weekends in which guests are the pleasant people that I'm sure God intended them to be. In busier, more combustible weekends my patience level has been known to take severely damaging beatings that end in tears for my staff (they are the only ones who can here me bitch, because if I said exactly what I wanted when I wanted to to guests, I would no longer be employed).
This weekend is going to be a doozy.
Not to mention this new play has caused a crisis of conscience and self-doubt. I know I'm a decent actress, but it's a nice thing to actually hear from a director on occasion, and all I'm hearing from him is that I need to project. I AM TALKING PLENTY LOUD, GET A HEARING AID!
Blah.
I need a vacation.
Always,
John
Right now I want to rip out my eyes, dangle them in front of a rabid dog, and see what comes of all the blood, gore, and decimation. *sigh* There are times when I really hate being management. As a mere peon, one can be slightly rude, or say things like "I don't know, allow me to get the manager for you." When you are the manager, there is no such reprieve.
Take, for instance, the fact that I just spent the last hour showing a couple around the inn. They had already booked separate rooms for this evening and tomorrow evening in order to "see more of our quaint establishment." That's fine, no big deal, happens all the time. BUT! When they got here, the wife saw that there was a bathtub with a handheld shower instead of a walk-in shower. She threw a hissy fit and demanded to see other rooms that were available. So, being the kind, patient, professional that I am, I showed them around to other rooms in which no one was staying this evening. Three rooms later they finally decided to stay in the same room which they had rented for tomorrow night.
My patience level has gotten dangerously low. This is how weekends work. I have just enough patience to go from Friday morning at 11am to Sunday afternoon at roughly 3pm before I start losing it. That is on nice, relaxing weekends in which guests are the pleasant people that I'm sure God intended them to be. In busier, more combustible weekends my patience level has been known to take severely damaging beatings that end in tears for my staff (they are the only ones who can here me bitch, because if I said exactly what I wanted when I wanted to to guests, I would no longer be employed).
This weekend is going to be a doozy.
Not to mention this new play has caused a crisis of conscience and self-doubt. I know I'm a decent actress, but it's a nice thing to actually hear from a director on occasion, and all I'm hearing from him is that I need to project. I AM TALKING PLENTY LOUD, GET A HEARING AID!
Blah.
I need a vacation.
Always,
John
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