Found Wanting

Last night my roommate asked me the world’s worst question. She looked straight into my puffy, tear-tuckered eyes and just said it, “What do you want?” I hate that question. I have always hated it. Whether it is in line at Baskin Robbins, on stage with my scene partner, or in this case, on an overcrowded couch in the East Village, I get nauseous at the thought of having to grapple with that query. What does it matter anyway?  According to Mick, “You can’t always get what you want. “ You can set your mind, body, heart, hope on a dream, goal, or ambition and still not see it come to fruition.  So, what is the point of saying it out loud over and over again? Can’t I just keep it to myself?  Why do I have to say it? Why do I even have to think it?

At that moment I wanted to chain myself in protest to the fence of mediocrity and settle for the oldie but goody response of “I don’t know,” but those sunflower eyes wouldn’t let me go. So, with a disgusted sigh, I hunkered down for a rather large helping of inevitable personal reflection.

 Hmmm… what do I want… well, I want not to have to answer this question right now… I want a Dr. Pepper in the worst way.  I want to be able to stop crying at the drop of a hat. I want to get out of my head. I want to call home and actually have something positive to say I want to be able to blow my nose and not have to see New York emissions on my tired tissues. I want to be kissed. I want to be ok.  I want my dreams back.

Last March something inside me died.  It scared my Mom. She sat on the edge of my bed looking at something she had never seen before, the limp, dark remains of my broken spirit.  For the first time in my life I couldn’t dream. I didn’t want to dream.  Now, while the gulf between this slough of despair  and arriving in the Big Apple is another book  entirely let alone another  blog entry, I mention it because when I flew into JFK on September  1^st,  I showed up with  three suitcases, an unfamiliar address, multiple prayers, a healthy dose of fear, and oddly enough, no dream.  Who does that?! Who comes to New York City without a dream? That is the complete opposite of what is supposed to happen.

 Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of acceptable answers as to why I decided to pick up and move two thousand miles across the country. My favorite one was merely stating the obvious, “Well, I am an actor.” I wouldn’t even have to finish the rest of my sentence because undoubtedly, the person spoken to  would nod their head, smile, and assume that I would be that person that they could say,  "I knew them when.”  It was a good answer. However, for the more academically inclined, grad school was the better, saner response. Now, this is not to say that these answers aren’t options, they are, but they are not necessarily THE answers.  I’m good at giving people what they want to hear because it is much easier to say something…anything … rather than to openly and honestly admit the truth. And that is that I don’t know what the H- E -Double Hockey Sticks I am doing.

So, when things are really difficult I have to fight hard to remember that there is a reason I am here even if I don’t know it yet. I have to fight hard against the thought that God is just messing with me, that  I am being plucked over  by this all knowing  Cosmic Mother Pheasant Plucker, that I am not a victim and that there is a story and I get to play a part in it.

So, back to the question, what do I want?  I want the dream, the vision, and the plan. I want to know what I am working towards, where “X” marks the spot, what the last page in my story says, what I am doing, where I am going, and how I’m going to get there. I don’t want to wait till Christmas or my birthday I want to know all of the answers now. I want to be God.

So much for having the alluring quality of patience this week.