Video games are a bit of a double-edged sword for me. I strongly advocate their presence in the arts, as they can represent the finest in agency-driven art. One’s necessary presence in a well-written, well-made video game inspires a type of catharsis akin to the best in theatre. In a world increasingly isolated, video games are not simple escapism; they transcend the borders we build for ourselves and increase communication of truths. In short, they are a new language.

For me, they do still stand in for better connections with people, however. An example: I saw a marvelous show last night, The Story of My Life, put on by Milwaukee Opera Theatre. If you asked people who have known me for a long time whether I am comfortable in a crowd, they would affirm that in a heartbeat. Since I have spent all of my free time in the theatre, however, I have developed an acute social anxiety. I feel like my reputation and, thus, my self-image are constantly at stake when discussing anything in a public setting. Perhaps that is the lesson we as humans are to learn from the internet, and facebook in particular. I am afraid to post any of my opinions on facebook, not because I fear having someone persuade me to change them, but because I fear people will write me off without attempting any such engagement.

In fact, I have difficulty engaging with anyone on any subject in public now for much the same reason. We are so quick to rush to judgment without learning more about why a person feels the way they do. I am certainly guilty of it, though I’d like to think less so than the average soul.

Video games sometimes make me act like someone I am not, or at least, hope not to be. When I get furious with a game, I always take stock and wonder why. What a silly thing, to find yourself angry at an inanimate object. In making attempts to learn more about myself in those moments, I have learned that I have placed too much value on whether I succeed in the game. This, however, comes from a place of feeling judged externally, as though somehow Marcee — or someone else, but Marcee is most commonly present — will think less of me if I have not mastered killing a pixelated zombie. Or, perhaps, that if I’m going to use my time for something so frivolous that I should at least move toward mastery of that thing.

I have even avoided playing with my friends on games for that same reason: I don’t want to let them down. Combine that fear with a demanding schedule, and my connections with friends dwindle to a dying ember. Certainly, that blame lies with me. I try not to feel shame about it, as that will only allow the simple solution to slip further away.

Enter the video game Dark Souls. It’s a single-player game with multi-player options. The game renowns itself on its punishing difficulty, pushing a player to learn its rules under fire, which makes victory all the sweeter. In my need for a challenge, I have picked it up several times, enchanted by its moody atmosphere and its rich environment of discovery and hypertension. For whatever reason, I accept when this game defeats me, and I don’t hide behind my usual excuse of “fighting the interface instead of playing the game.” I exult in victories and defeats alike, and laugh when something gets the better of me. I actually laugh. I can’t always remember what that feels like, to laugh suddenly at myself. To have a gritty swords-and-sorcery game “waste my time” with having to tread the same ground over and over again until I make a breakthrough, and to laugh rather than piss and moan through it? That’s remarkable for me.

I don’t intend this to be a rave review for a game. That’s not what my journal stands for. I do want to clarify, however, how I have started to understand the little things and not delve — not too deeply, anyway — for meaning in simple joys. Analyzing joy is how to kill it. Shockingly, it took me this long to comprehend that. I still fight it. As the great Darren Nichols says, “The common man enjoys something, but is incapable of understanding the mechanism by which he comes to enjoy it.” (I’m paraphrasing.) Why have I resisted living as a common man? Is it settling to take breaks? Will my life leave a greater mark if I eschew happiness in favor of the dark dominion of depression? Happiness is a choice, they say, and I write that off as trite and … well, stupid, which is precisely the reason it has eluded me.

If I want to create, why not create happiness? Why not inspire myself, and remove myself from an external search for meaning which I know will never be found? Good questions.

Thankful today for my own discipline: I wrote, I meditated, I exercised, I acted in kindness, I did chores, and I played video games. Now, I will try to make it one step further in Dark Souls before I take on a couple of more tasks on my task list.

If you read this, whoever you may be, thanks for reading this.

When I take time off, it means that I get to do only things that make me happy.

So, in this three month hiatus from theatre, I have done the following work, gratefully and happily:

• Sound design for Handle with Care at Boulevard Theatre
• Swing Stage Manager for Handle with Care
• Fight director for My Fair Lady at Skylight Music Theatre
• Fight director for Arrowhead High School’s Julius Caesar
• Sound design for Upon a Midnight Clear, a Liz Shipe show at Soulstice Theatre
• Light and Sound board op for Upon a Midnight Clear, a Liz Shipe show at Soulstice Theatre
• Stage Combat workshops at Shorewood High School
• Poster and production design for A View from Here with Umbrella Group Theatre
• Marketing and Development for Central Illinois Stage Combat Workshop
• Independent skills certification workshop in Quarterstaff for Dueling Arts International
• Certified Teacher for Winter Wonderland Workshop in Chicago
• Actor in Mostly Monsterly for Sunset Playhouse’s touring Bug in a Rug company
• Actor in Love, Ruby Valentine for Sunset Playhouse’s touring Bug in a Rug company
• Director for Bridge to Terbaithia at Racine Theatre Guild
• Co-Producer for Bachelorette at Theater RED

That’s a pretty great list, with much more to come, once I’m officially working again. I still have wrestling matches with impostor syndrome and self-esteem, but it’s good to recognize … well, good.

Yesterday, I took the day off and played Dungeons of Dredmor all day while I meditated. Ironically, I neglected to actually meditate. I ate Taco Bell and ice cream, and binge-watched nearly all of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which allowed me to try and figure out how I can allow myself to enjoy a day like that. I always feel guilty that I’m not getting other things done. Being married means that I’m always worried about how my “roommate” will react to things I do on my own. Marcee has never been mad about me taking a day off, but it still does not feel private. I don’t want anyone to know when I slack off to that extent, because people can’t know what goes on in my head when I’m doing that.

But why should I care so much even if they did? Why should I feel the need to be thinking big thoughts while I’m goofing off for a day, typically to recover. I’m glad to know my friends think highly of me. I should join them in that feeling. Not about them, but about me. I always feel like my friends are superb people.

I have achieved so much with stage combat, and I hope to be able to make more out of it. Could I fight through the lack of an MFA to teach at a college? It’s difficult, and I am tired. Could I do it, or is it beyond what is possible?

A warm bed. My health. A remodeled basement full of luxury toys. I’ve always felt that giving thanks for these gifts of privilege and happenstance would be too trite to be mentioned. My personal honor values only those achievements I have worked for, and to call myself grateful for the money that other people have given me, rather than the people themselves, makes me feel … ugh, common. I fear I have become irredeemably elitist. Probably true.

Instead of giving up, however, I have committed to showing better gratitude for those things that I should. I have so many people who care about me. It may be a small comfort, but climbing into a warm bed is, in fact, a luxury, as is my health, not to mention all the fun toys I get to have by virtue of my relationship.

In being fair to myself, I was able to provide a fine life for Clare and myself when we were together, and now Marcee is, perhaps karmically, reciprocating. Also, my needs are fairly simple, and I have no dependents, which allows me to capitalize effectively on the typically reasonable salary I could demand as a computer programmer. I think I should like to keep track of whether I could do so as a freelance theater artist. I’m guessing not, since so many of my friends need roommates and second jobs. I’m not certain. It might satisfy my male ego to know.

1.

It was a simple enough task to remove the tree from the egress window in our basement. I jumped down in my old coat and my new shoes and pulled. The tree clung, roots covered in clay and gravel, and it took all of my strength and several strenuous minutes to get it to let go. Then, I put it in the street for pickup with no small sense of sadness. I still do not understand why the tree grew there, under the plastic cover meant to keep too many leaves and too much detritus from collecting by our window. But it did. It grew tall and strong and was soon to burst from the cover. For practicality, but also for aesthetic, it had to go. Not seeing it there, balanced symmetrically between the pane edges, has made the room where I spend most of my time feel less alive.

2.

My uncle called, and texted, and called others and texted others. Could I help him with a tree job? That is, would I spend a day with him so that, in his weakened state, he could make some money on the side in my home town, tearing down a tree? For many years, he made his living as a ranger and a tree expert. I would only be needed as a second pair of hands. I made excuses for my late responses, and lied that I would not be able to fit it into my schedule. Fortunately, after my refusal, he responded that he did have a backup. My relief lasted only briefly. My younger cousin would act in my stead. Only my feelings toward my uncle, my fractured sense of generosity, kept me from helping. I need no compensation, save gratitude, but for all my talk of willingness to help anyone in need, I refused his call. Why? I did not want to spend any time with him. He reaches out so often, and we, waspishly, recoil from his maladroit approach. Where did I learn to distance myself from my family? If I have learned so much about myself, and I dislike these habits, why do I not change them? I have no such immunity to this bullshit, as I deceive myself that I do.

3.

More so than ever, I am starting to understand how I warped my own empathy to be analytical, rather than emotional. I needed it, at first, to cope with my own pain, then used it, as artists do, to create work of greater accessibility. Today, during meditation, I started to understand how one must activate empathy; that is, the feeling needs access before the brain fully processes it. Initially, I understood the feeling, but I allowed my brain to respond to it statically, in its typical fashion. Autopilot empathy. Now, thanks to some choice descriptions of motivating one’s meditation to focus on others, I felt myself open those channels again. Have I perfected this new use? Of course not. The meditation did act as a mental version of a Feldenkrais ATM, however, and brought me to increased understanding of a less helpful mental habit that I had written off as always correct, when it qualifies more as triage.

I see trees, where once I could only see forest.

As an interesting side note, I have accused people so often of losing themselves in detail and missing the forest for the trees. I don’t know better yet, but I have opened the book and begun to read again.

I took on the directing job for Bridge to Terabithia in Racine. The new knowledge and the possibilities have to outweigh my own brain. Fantasy, depression, guilt, family issues, escapism, music… that’s a lot to delve into, YA fiction or no. If I feel too suburban about it all later, I can tell myself it’s on the challenged book list. I’m glad they offered me the job, even if I am the last minute choice.

In addition to that, I will be filling in as board operator for a few days on Upon a Midnight Clear, which has charmed me more than I thought it would. Liz created a mythology that speaks to me, and used accessible language to fill in the gaps. I would like her to try a new style, perhaps, with the next play, but I also don’t want to command her to do anything. That’s not a good way to create art, under dictation, but I like the Oulipan notion of foreign strictures as a means for growth.

After 10 years of solid training — as I write of growth — I am now teaching at the workshop where I started learning. I always say that I have 20 years of training, because teaching, writing, and producing the madrigal dinner taught me a great deal. I learned from myself, of course, but when I observed that my ability to self-assess began to falter, I sought new mentorship and testing. Now that I have proven myself, I must not allow my self-doubt to weaken my resolve. I gave myself a mission. I finished boot camp. Now, I will train others, as I have trained myself.

Gratitude is not always easy.

I had a brief discussion with Marcee about her position on marijuana. I am grateful that we were able to disagree without having a fight. I am too strident too often. Righteousness should be reserved for the right fights.

We have friends and colleagues who support Theater RED wholeheartedly, who tell us frequently not to give up or give in, because what we do is important, even if it’s only to them. That’s enough, I think, and I am grateful for them and their words.

I am taking on another fight direction gig in Julius Caesar at Arrowhead, and directing Bridge to Terabithia at Racine Theatre Guild in February. With these creative projects, and the prospect of learning even more about how to create art in this difficult medium, I also get to ping away at the looming debts my lifestyle demands. I’m grateful I can write this on an afternoon at Colectivo, rather than trying to squeeze it in between the idiocy a day job often forces on people.

Thanks. Thanks and thanks again. It’s not the season that puts me in this mood, though that never hurts. I have merely come to realize how selfish I have become. I want to reach out more. Allow my empathy to serve its intended purpose. Serve the higher good in my minuscule way. Make a dent. The place to begin is inside, give over to service. One step closer. And ignore the dark part of my brain screaming, “Cliche, trite, simple, complacent.”

Our production meeting last night for Bachelorette filled me with hope again for theatre. As Aaron and I geeked out over our nerdy obsession with stage magic, Mark and Marcee and Erica plotted out the necessaries for us to go forward boldly into a dark and hilarious show.

I performed a few sleight of hand card tricks for Aaron, who, despite my unpracticed clumsiness, showed genuine appreciation. We have so much in common, I’m surprised that we haven’t ever connected more meaningfully. Maybe our mutual cynicism bars it, maybe only mine. Regardless, I think Bachelorette will continue to show us how similar we are as people, even if his is the greater share of talent and wisdom.

This afternoon, I introduce myself to a new high school theatre program to which Leda recommended me. I continue to feel undervalued, even as I make these inroads; nonetheless, it seems that I might actually make my living doing theatre, even as I prepare to abandon it. If I can make training workshops pay, and swallow the times when people rudely suggest that my craft needs so little time to perform, I may be able to fight direct as a profession. Wasn’t that always the goal? I must learn to accept small victories on the way to the greater battle.

I promised Doug at Racine Theatre Guild that I would respond to his request for me to direct for him in February. I’m torn about the project, but the opportunity to learn goads me into perhaps taking a hit. Again, I can make a living doing this, if I focus on directing, working backstage, and offering training opportunities. I still wonder if getting my MFA would make all of this simpler, despite the obvious trouble it creates in everything else. I have to decide soon, I suppose. I wish universities would not bar someone based on that piece of paper. I offer as much, perhaps more, than many who have that degree. Do they value time in academia over real-world experience and training? I definitely have proven my stage combat abilities to be greater than most. Why should that not suffice? And will I win this fight, or is that paper an insurmountable obstacle?

Last night, I helped out as interim stage manager for Boulevard Theatre’s production of Handle With Care, a sweet little show given great life by its actors. I stole a little life force being around people who had no choice but to appreciate me. Marcee was very kind to me, watching that I dealt with a very stressful situation without losing my cool. The lights were not working and it had nothing to do with my aptitude or ineptitude.

Luckily, between Mitch and me, we were able to figure out the problem (a poor address on the dimmer packs), and we moved forward with not trouble. The technical things are never a problem; my stress always comes in having to keep other people from panicking. Whether I know the answer to a problem or not, I always keep a level head, and run several “what if” scenarios at once. Typically, people’s suggestions are a few steps behind me, but I feel like honoring them with a second attempt allows us all to feel secure that every option has been exhausted and that everyone has been heard.

I was asked to direct a show at another theatre for a reasonable rate, but I’m not sure whether I’m interested. The script shows promise, but I balk at the necessity of casting pre-teens and adolescents. I can control them, obviously, but would I find merit in working with them? I have to decide by tomorrow.

Tonight, I get to meet with the folks at the Alchemist, who are some of my favorite people. Even if conversations never quite sync between us, I know that we share a perspective on theatre, particularly in Milwaukee, and it has been too long since I have spent some time with them. With every meeting, I grow more excited for this next show, and it does help to buffer me against so many people who seemingly want to use me for their personal gain, while granting not even the smallest kindnesses in return.

I have to remember that my people exist out there, and I have only been removed from them temporarily.