Today was my first day of a little depression. With the huge Camp Fire burning to the north of us, we have been covered in smoke, so we can’t go outside as the air is unbreathable. The wife goes to work, the kid goes to school, and I am at home looking for a job, and trying to write.
It was fun for the first few days.
Today, clearly, I hit a wall.
I felt unmotivated, and couldn’t get going on anything. I mean, I got groceries for the family, but then I couldn’t do anything else.
I watched the news, and just spent the day thinking about everything that could be happening to me in New York. Social media doesn’t help, because I can see what all of my friends are doing in NYC. And that kicks in the “fear of missing out.”
But they are in there, and I am here, and 3,000 miles separates us.
Another part of this is that I was talking to an old college friend last night, and he was asking me about how I was doing, and why I moved to California. It wasn’t in an accusatory way, more along the lines of “help me understand your decision so I can support you.”
Why did I move?
Well… I wanted a better life for my kid. I wanted to go on an adventure and try something new. I wanted to focus on writing. But as I was talking to my friend, I found myself saying something that I hadn’t expressed before, which was I was becoming the type of person who couldn’t celebrate other’s successes without trying to pull them down. The theatre world isn’t very nice, and I was beginning to take part in the bitter middle-aged actor stereotype. And to be that person made me a crappy father and a shitty husband. Maybe that was New York’s fault, but it was really my fault.
I needed to change things.
I needed to reinvent myself.
Today was a day that I started to doubt that decision.
Not that I am changing my mind.