There was not a moon hung in the sky that night as the friends made their way to the evening’s festivities. Blurred wavelengths of color mark the streets as they weave in and out of traffic. Like a painter gracefully presses their brush along a canvas, this is their dance. It is their silent impact. It is their passion and fervor embracing their fast past turning world.
If only for a moment.
If only for these moments.
Plates and silverware clink amidst the roars and hushes of chatter at a local spot by the beach. The pair break through the sound and enter. They are eager for this time of relaxation and the company of friends.
It is like every cliche night in Los Angeles. Even when business is over for the day, it is still business as usual. If anything, it is the kind of night where the most business happens just as much as it is about relaxing.
We sat there and ate cake and drank a few rounds. We smiled. We laughed. Everyone was enjoying the company. Everyone was enjoying the chatter.
A drink sits lonesome by at the end of the table.
“Whose is this?”
“He’s coming to join us.”
A man in black with an apron slung around his waist approaches the table.
“It will be about 15 minutes before I am done with my shift. I have to do some paperwork. I’ll be right over.”
“Come have your drink.” the group insists.
“Not yet. I’m on the clock and I have my integrity.”
The drink glows in the moonlight and sings its own silent overture to the starless sky above them.
He finished his shift and pulled a chair over. The party was not complete for the evening. However, this is the point when it started to get more real. Every single other person on there was highly involved within a specific scene, even if their places in line were not the same. The server was the odd person out in the group.
I asked him simple questions.
I wanted to make sure he felt fully included.
“Where did you work before this job? Is this the job that you would like to have or are you an actor?”
It was very cliché. I was very… rude actually.
“I lived in Vermont.” he said.
“But what did you do there exactly?” I asked him again.
He stated to tell his story. He was trying so hard to belong to the group.
“I was working in computers.”
“But what in computers?”
The table echoed with questions pertaining to various fields.
“I was working a help desk.”
More questions as to specifics.
In a way, I felt bad. Not because of his answers. Not because But because we were so to the T about his responses yet the majority of us are entrepreneurs. Our work and dreams are similar to this man’s, even if they aren’t always the same.
He turned the discussion to the rest of the table. One by one, like an AA meeting, we all spoke about our jobs and stated our names.
Entrepreneur. PR. Consulting. Etcetera.
The flashlight came my way and I failed. As I have so many hats on currently, what I didn’t say was what I knew the most. I had spoken a lot about both but also relatively little, even if I had been verbose. Succinctly there were only two answers that should have been said.
“I am a writer. Sometimes it’s for money. Sometimes it’s not. But it’s always with heart.”
Transpose the word artist for writer and have the same answer.
Sometimes things shouldn’t have to be so wordy or complex. There is so much complexity in the purity. But only if you look inwardly for it and only if you listen. I have learned that being dynamic is like constantly being on stage. You have to be bold. You have to be brazen. You have to be fully aware of what you are.
You have to…
You have to…
You have to….
“I am an artist. Sometimes it’s for money. Sometimes it’s not. But it’s always with my heart- fully open and susceptible to being broken and put back together again and again in every single thing that I do.”
Because that is who I am and that’s what I am proud of. Every. Single. Day.