Stepping Stones

  This week should see my first calls from the agency for acting auditions.

   It seems like I've been waiting on this forever, ever since Labour Day when I happened to chance upon the two recruiters in Burlington.  Sometimes I get a small worry that I've oversold this to people.  I mean, I had one person in the last week ask me "besides acting, what do you do?" and yet I haven't even been to an audition yet!  Still, if ever there was an application of the "act as if" principle, it's this.  I'm going to take this one heads on and see where it leads.   I'm excited!

   Creative people are difficult to place in a capitalist economy.  It's probably why so many artists grativate towards socialism or communism: if the basic necessities of life were taken care of by the community, then it would free up artists to explore their craft without fear of homelessness or starvation, whatever it might be.  I can definitely see that appeal.  Sadly, while that could be the way things go in the future, at the present, creative men and women are still having to wait tables, serve coffee, lug boxes, or push paper in offices to support the basics of life to follow their dreams. 

   When they do succeed, though, they succeed big.  It's the difference between Harrison Ford the Carpenter - the job he held to pay the bills; he'd met George Lucas when the director hired him to fix his cabinets - and Harrison Ford the A-List Film Star.  If you look at the percentages of artists living almost obscene affluence thanks to their craft and those struggling for rent and food....well, I'd rather not.  As one of Ford's more famous characters, Han Solo, once remarked:

"Never tell me the odds."

    Off the top of my head, I've held something like nine jobs in my fourteen year work history.  Two were logistics clerk positions; one was a warehouse co-ordinator for a marketing company; one was as an office customer service rep; two were pure administrative clerical gigs; two were as a warehouse material handler; one was as a virtual concierge (in an office, but not doing administration); and one was in sales. 

   Out of the nine, I was happiest in the concierge and the sales gigs.  I only left the concierge for the better shift and pay of government work, and - I'll admit - the presence of a union to keep the man at bay (my new thoughts on unions are a whole other entry altogether).  I only stopped working the sales job because the company itself was shady and disintegrated, resulting in a layoff (I enjoyed the work, though).

   I liked them because they appealed to my creativity, because they challenged me to think outside the box, to use my unique talents.  It's a satisfaction I can't get in government.  Here, there is nothing outside the box.  The box is everything.

    There's a lingering convention in the way Western culture - and the American workforce paradigm in particular - views careers, and that's the idea that you're supposed to find one career for life.  It's that 1950s ideal of the man who works for a loyal company, for fair compensation, who gets rewarded for his efforts if he shows effort.  He sticks with the company for 40 years, then retires with a good pension. 

   Flashforward to the Great Recession...hell, even before.  The 1950s vision is only a memory, and a laughable one at that.  Not only has the economy grown more unstable, but several new work paradigms have emerged.  One of them suits the artist very well: the job as a growth experience, as a stepping stone. 

   You start a job with a great level of excitement, stay as long as the gumption stays with you.  Enjoy your time.  When the gumption runs out, and the job feels like an existential drag, or when you no longer see any chances to move up, start finding something else.  Send out the resumes, do the interviews, and when you get an offer for a new place, tender your resignation at the old, and start again.

   In a way, it's more natural than sticking with the same job for decades.  In nature, there are many species of fauna that will habitate one place for a while, and then migrate to greener pastures when the habitat no longer supports them.  Western culture, for all its greatness which I do admire and defend, seems wont to impose artificial expectations on work, as it does other aspects of life.  Why should anyone stick with something long after it's outlived its usefulness?  When it not only stops providing satisfaction and a feeling of purpose and belonging, but actually starts working against your happiness? 

  The reflex of the traditionalists, of course, is to slap back with the other extreme: you don't want a string of fifteen jobs on a resume.  You don't want to show you're non-committal.  To them, I say this: employers are non-committal.  Way more than their workers.  They won't hesitate to let you go if it serves their interests.  You shouldn't hesitate to drop them in favour of something new if they no longer serve your interests, as long as you do so in a professional manner that prevents too much damage on either side of the arrangement.

   When we say we're in a new economic reality, we need to appreciate that this reality now changes on a daily basis, not a generational one.  Most of the gray hairs for whom I work and who still cling to the old 1950s vision of career will never accept that, nor will their younger disciples for whom life has indeed been a straight and narrow path of relative ease.  Adaptability and knowing when to leap are two qualities I'd advise any young person entering the workforce to develop, no matter what they studied in school, at no matter what level. 

   Above all, I say to these kids: don't look for your career to define you as it has previous generations.  Instead, try to resist the tendency to label yourself and others you'll meet by what they do, and focus instead on the experience of life as a whole, in which "career" is only one thread in the tapestry.

   Your career, like your relationships, like your health, like other parts of your life, should all have one thing in common: they should be accurate reflections of the strongest version of Who You Are. Present tense. That is, they put you in the zone and give you a zest for life, make you excited to wake up in the morning to face the new day.   Doesn't matter what the job is, whether it's in your trained field or not, as long as it contributes to your overall joy.  When it stops doing so, look for something else that's more in line with Who You Are, however you define it, wherever you find it.

   I'm mindful that I'm now as excited about acting as I was about starting my current job, as I had been about the virtual concierge, about many of the jobs that ended up burning me out over the years. I haven't left my day job, and don't plan on it, for all of the shortcomings it has of low creative satisfaction and the social isolation. But I'm no lifer: my boss knows that, and if this new adventure turns out to be lucrative and personally fulfilling enough, I'd be silly to stick with a sure thing that fails to satisfy on both counts.

   How this turns out remains to be seen. That's why it's called "risk". Stay tuned.

***UPDATE: For those of you who have expressed concern, even criticism, that I shouldn't write this for fear that current and future employers may Google me, read this.  Frankly, any employer who would seek that much control over my thoughts and feelings does not deserve my services.

Twentysomething

   So, typically my pre-birthday blogs tend towards the longer side.  One is in the works, make no mistake, but I'm going to save that for now, since it's unlikely to be done before midnight tonight.

   I'm turning 30 in three hours. Technically, I guess, I turn 30 at 12:45pm tomorrow, but I've usually marked my birthday at midnight. 

   I wrote in my first book, QLO: The Quarter Life Opportunity, that our twenties are our testing ground for adulthood, for the rest of our lives, in a way that later years are not.  Later years are supposed to be for the fulfillment of dreams, for "success", however you define it, and for truly "growing up". 

   Certainly, Twentysomething has been a proving ground for me, and I've learned much.

   Here are the highlights.  Young Padawans, take heed.

  What I Learned During My Twenties

  All plans fail.  No plans fail.  However you think your life is going to unfold, it's simply not going to go that way.  Period.  There will always be something unexpected that pops up and derails you.  Do not become addicted to your lifeplan.  Set a destination, yes.  Set goals, yes.  But never lose your spontaneity, your ability to adapt to change, because change will happen.  If you could predict it, it wouldn't be change. And would you really want to, anyway?

   And if something you pinned your hopes on doesn't work out, look for the benefit in what happened.   That's why no plan truly "fails": it's simply leads you to unexpected conclusions. Sometimes the victory isn't obvious until later.

   You can re-create yourself as many times as you want.  My identity has lived, died, and been reborn several times during my twenties, and it will continue to do so.  Never get too wrapped up in who you think you are, or attach too much importance to what others think of you.  You can re-invent yourself; in fact, whether you're aware of it or not, you're always reinventing itself, every minute.  Being conscious of this lets you do it with greater power and intention.  It keeps you feeling young while giving you the wisdom of age and experience.

   Authenticity matters, unless you're authentically an asshole.  "Be yourself" can be the worst advice to give to some people.  It enables stubbornness and close-mindedness in the worst of us, because you start to feel that you're entitled to be an asshat.  Wayne Dyer writes that "the only common factor in all of your past failed relationships to date is you.".  If you're not willing to compromise even a little, you get to keep what you defend, and so you won't grow.  I've learned this the hard way, trust me.

   Then again, if you're aspiring to better yourself, authenticity is key.  By that, I mean being aware of what you truly feel, what you really can and can't do, what you need to learn, and to be ready and willing to learn it.  "Fake it 'til you make it" can work, but it's far easier and smoother to authentically become the person you want to be.  How you do that, and the circumstances in which you do that, vary from person to person.  Just be aware of yourself.

   Why is this a twentysomething lesson?  Because it's preferable to internalize this and put it into practice before you become an old fart before your time.  Seriously, guys, I marvel at the bravado and sheer certainty of some of my younger friends, many of whom think they've got it all figured out at 22. Most of the time, they're just bullshitting, or puffing themselves up to impress.  Fuck that.  You're always most impressive when you're authentically walking your talk, not just talking about it.  Start now, guys and gals.  You'll be happy you did.

   Now is all that matters.  Readers will have noticed a theme in the last few entries. And it's so true.  You only get one chance at this moment.  Will you gloss it over?  Spend it agonizing that you're not where you're "supposed" to be in life?  Waste it by "thinking" about it?  No, being in the "now" means experiencing the moment.  It means feeling the moment, outside of thought.  Life then becomes a form of walking meditation.

   This has been one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn, but it's been persistent.  Everytime I've thought I'd shaken it, I turn a corner and there it is again, staring me in the face.  Make plans, yes.  Have ambitions, yes.  But while those plans are simmering, when it's just you and whatever it is you're doing, be present.  Two great books to help you: Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now", and Whitley Strieber's "The Path". 

   Why?  My twenties are not a collection of ten years, but of thousands of moments. Moments add up to a lifetime in our experience, because that's the biggest sample we can take in.  That's life, no matter how old you are, but learning it while young enhances the rest of your days. Better to be present in each moment than suddenly having awareness every few weeks and wondering where all the time has gone.  "Wow, September just flew by...."

   Allow, and let go.  My ex recently returned me to this awareness.  "Everything that's happened to me since I started over have happened when I just stopped stressing, let go, and moved on," she said.  Reconnecting recently, I discovered that, like me, she's had a stroke of good fortune that's helped her grow since our split. And it's true: sometimes you have to just let things happen.  Set your intention, do the work, and let 'er go.  Bill Murray sums this up brilliantly in What About Bob.  Despite never having been on a boat, he found sailing to be easy: "I just let the boat do the work, that was my secret." 

   Speaking of my ex....

   What's good is never lost.  I lost my grandfather, my childhood pet Benton, and split from my first and only love to date, in my twenties. Of those, my split from my ex was the most devastating.  And yet, I regret nothing.  She and I have built a new friendship, one based on distance, one far more grown up and mature than before, and one which is rare.  It's helped me avoid bitterness about "wasted time", and helped me realize that none of it was wasted at all.  My twenties, and hers, will always be the time of us, and I'm grateful for this. I know she is, too.  

   Experiences lived to their fullest remain with you, no matter the outcome. Grandpa's wisdom and love remain with me.  I'm two minds on whether Benny's actually reincarnated into my sister's new cat or if he's still hanging around - I still get visitations - but either way, a childhood pet stays with you for the rest of your life in some form.  And my ex and I have grown together, even if we've split apart romantically, and I feel safe in saying that we're both grateful for what we've had together as a couple, and what we'll yet experience as friends reborn.  All remains with me and more.  Gain this awareness in your twenties, and your thirties will be richer for it, for you'll have internalized the wisdom of elders while still young. 

   Which leads me to my last point of this shorter entry.

  Everything you do is worth it.  I mean everything.  Simple as that.

  30 is just a number.  30 is the new 20.  I've heard it all.  All ages are just a number.  It's how you feel on the inside that counts.  And yeah, I admit, every now and then, I still feel the desperation of Tolstoy's Pahom, rushing up that hill to catch the last rays of sunlight.  On occasion, I still feel lonely, nostalgic for the old days, regretful of past actions, guilty for not having made as much of material success as I could have had I been more "conventional".  The secret to conscious living isn't to always be happy 24/7, but to go with the ups and downs of all normal human emotions in full awareness of them. 

  But as these last few hours of 29 tick away, I realize that they're just hours. Tomorrow is another day for the rest of the world, so why not for me as well?  It's taken ten years of life experience, traumas, joys, pleasures, fears, suffering, and assertion, to realize that at every moment, at every place, I was exactly where I needed to be. 

  Each moment has the potential for surprise. And as I begin my thirties, I am ever open to the moments. 

  Because, in the end, all age is is just a number.

  Because, in the end, I am who I am and I am grateful for that. 

  Because, no matter what, I am where I need to be, right now.

  And because tomorrow is just another day.

  Happy Thanksgiving!