Lumina

Writing this on the plane, my heart absolutely sick for Edinburgh. There is nothing, nothing, nothing like the magic of Fringe. The incredible, daring, hilarious, innovative theatre. The millions of twinkle lights. The flocks of happy people. It’s what makes it unlike any other gathering—the happy people, the nice people. This morning in the airport I was shocked a woman cut in front of me in line and then argued with the desk worker, but, yeah, she was American.

 Yesterday morning I was miserable, clawing the walls to leave. My bed was utterly uncomfortable and loud, bees would fly in the open window, but a closed window created the stuffiest nasty box, the carpet that made me never not want to wear shoes, the drunks at 3 AM, the moldy fridge, the sharing a flat with seven other people, the feeling of something closing up around me and wanting to kiss it goodbye before it could break up with me. In the afternoon Stripes took a train from Manchester just to visit me. We roamed about having noodles and catching up and really trying to sort out this life. I remember the night we met walking to our freshman dorms together. We were so tiny and mindless. I waited for her bus with her, watched her jump to the double decker, waved goodbye. It was 22:00. I was farther from how than I thought I was, ended up making my way back through the square I spent the last month hurrying to every night. It was tons of boards and wood panels and rails and boxes. Gone: the flower garden and vegan pbj sandwich hut, the adorable circus tent, the crepe line, the old couples, the drunken bros, the buskers, the light on the cobblestones. It makes me want to cry.

There were nights when it was in its full majesty I also wanted to cry. The rest of my cast was tucked in a theatre doing their second show, and I was alone, blood pumping with the adrenaline of sticking the landing to cheering sold-out house, but now walking in the chilly wind past happy parties and a jillion fliers—wondering who I would most prefer to be—someone in a line going to what’s supposed to be the hottest show, a person on the billboard for the hottest show, or myself.

The company I toured with is certainly dysfunctional (as have been all comedy theatre I have ever worked for, so), but what an utter gift this month has been. I pushed my boundaries in every possible way imaginable. I am so serious, in every single way a person can be challenged I have been. I felt on deep deep levels from new and old relationships, theatre, and performance. I ate a billion treats. I stayed up very very late, I hiked mountains, I evaluated who I am and who I hope to be and what I hope to make and what I do make. I appreciated cafes, castles.

I haven’t felt this way since I was in the backseat of my family’s gray mini-van riding home from summer camp.

Destiny/Coincidence

If you had asked me a year ago, or ten years ago, or twenty if I believed in predetermination, I would tell you no. I vividly remember learning about Calvinism in history class and wondering who would ever adhere to such a philosophy.

But this year I have come to realize I used to unconsciously believe in destiny. I only know now because I no longer do. I have felt blessed for much of my adult life. Things seemed to work out for me. I came against life-changing forks in the road every other year, and it seemed that not only did I feel peace after I made a choice, I was almost comically reassured by the universe later. I turned down tempting jobs and the company folded. I backed out of a delicious program and heard from peers they dropped because it was horrible. I went on tricky adventures and soared. If something did feel off, inevitably, some new thing would bloom and I would say, "Good thing I was here at this moment." A less romantic version of that Rascal Flatts song. I didn't realize it, but when I was making decisions, I was imagining there were already two completely written lives for me, and I just had to pick one. Of course, there were ways I could have wandered off the paths if I did something truly out of character (committed a crime, bailed), but those things were so unlikely that my fate was essentially sealed.

I didn't mind hard or poor times because I had a Golden Thing in my future. I couldn't say what it was, but since I had taken all the "right" steps so far at any given time, each challenge was meant to be. Two years ago a comedy teacher of mine said, "You have to keep working if you're going to become the artist you're meant to be--well, no one is meant to be anything--but if you're going to become the artist you can be." I was jarred. Of course he was right, but that wasn't what my secret mind thought.

Things feel random now. I see how I arbitrarily make a meeting and get an opportunity or don't. How I have a million dollar idea but can't write it. How selfish people get ahead, how true people don't. I've felt murdered by doors opening while I'm in the middle of other commitments I have made. I don't remember that ever happening before. I always understood what FOMO was but never dealt with it. I feel like a ladybug on a fall leaf. I was stuck to a branch, but now winter is coming, and I'm floating haphazardly down.

My friend expressed this same confusion the other night. It was strange to hear someone else in the exact same mental boat. She guessed it was the election. I think I agree. I know there were horrible things in the world, but it seemed like good was winning and everything was happening in some grand calculated way. November 8th felt insane and purposeless. The fight since has felt like chucking powdered sugar at a tank.

I wish I could go back to my old train of thought. Even if I was wrong.