Today has been one of those days where I have been questioning the meaning of everything around me. The world seems to have no order and I am sick of commenting on it, trying to find some meaning amongst it all through writing or acting or some creative endeavor. I am sick of searching for truth when it just seems like things happen randomly and there isn't a rhyme or a reason for anything. I think to myself, maybe I should quit my artistic pursuit. Maybe I should just give up and go to medical school where all of my problems will be solved. I'll have a path to follow and I won't have to face all of my fears.
Every Monday I go to an acting class where it's difficult to hide from any feeling. My teacher has a way of sucking the emotion out of her students whether they like it or not. On certain days I love this about her, specifically when I'm not the subject. But, on days like today, when I am the subject of her hunt for truth and emotion, I hate it. For someone who claims to love the truth, I sure hate telling it sometimes, when it comes to how I feel.
To me, telling the truth is the double-edged sword of art. It's what makes it so irresistible and so excruciating in one fell swoop. And when it comes time to delve into the painful stuff, giving up can feel like the most viable option. When there are so many beautiful elements in life that appear to be void of pain, why do I have to look at the bad stuff? Can't I just ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist? Other people around me seem to live beautiful lives, full of lies... Why does it appear so easy for them?
These are the questions the swirl through my head today. Then I think about sitting down to work on my new screenplay, and I feel completely lost. Lost because I don't want to look at the truth of what I have to write. I don't want to have to feel the pain. I just want to pretend everything is OK. But, isn't it true that nothing interesting and worthwhile ever comes easily?
I call my dad. I tell him how I feel and he tells me to think of Michelangelo. Ha ha. I am no Michelangelo, and in fact, including him in my blog makes me laugh at myself. But, he's referring to something specific.
Michelangelo's, David lives in a museum in Florence. The hallway leading up to it is filled with his unfinished sculptures (pictured to the right). The marble that he continued to chip away at before he created his masterpiece. These pieces show his frustration, fears and perseverance. His lapses in faith in himself, followed by another try.
So here I am today, still fighting the fight. Staying true, even though it hurts and believing that one day, the hard work will pay off. And when I say 'pay off', I mean that hopefully, when the day comes that this life is over, I can look back, nod my head and say, 'Yeah, I'm glad I lived it like that.'
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