What is the price of clarity? What would you pay to, lets say, uncover your true self? To wonderfully and completely understand, down to your very core, who you are? To feel comfortable in your skin, to accept each and every part of your being you never thought you could live with? To love yourself, and your mate, unconditionally? What might you do, to finally understand?
A year ago, I drove away from Cincinnati. What was my life there came to an abrupt halt. After 3 years, I had finally found a place that I belonged to. I belonged to Chuck, Mark, Keith, Charlie, a group of individuals who loved and accepted me despite my flighty-ness, quirks, insane need for emotional connection and love. I didn't need to be anything less than who I was. I had a comfortable life as a voice teacher and a fun little place in local theatre. But what came next? I had finally come to terms with what was holding me back in my relationship with my husband, and realized, all along, I had what I wanted and needed within the confines of my marriage. But after starting work on that, what was left? When Rob was offered the job in California, I asked myself that very question. "What comes next, Al? Yes, you have some amazing friends who mean the world to you (which was almost reason enough for me to stay), but your studio could be fuller. You could start your theatre company in a town where they are a dime a dozen, where everyone else does the shows you want to do... and badly. You could take a few paltry roles, or fight the two Cincinnati Aging Crones (I won't mention any names, but those reading this should know exactly who I'm talking about) for the really good ones."
And I realized, I didn't want to fight the CA Crones for roles I could care less about. I didn't want to try like hell to make a studio fuller when Paul, Pat and Carl have the market cornered (as well they should, because they are all amazing teachers). I didn't want to start my theatre company in Cincinnati. A little too post-mod for my tastes. So what was next? Dare I leave my comfortable life for something a little less... warm?
When we came to California, I was frightened. Never had I lived so far from family. Never had I been so disconnected from the world I knew. In this place, I felt myself wither away. I had no students. I had no theatre. I had no voice, no emotional connection to anyone but Rob. The quiet was maddening. I found myself in a dark place, where I couldn't understand if the weather made me sad, or my lack of passion, or both.
Suddenly, I realized the quiet was there for a reason. Sometimes, you need the silence so you can hear what you've been trying to tell yourself for so long. And it hit me, this moment of clarity, where I understood why I had come here. Of course I came to support my husband, and in turn, we got something so incredibly wonderful, fate must have stepped in. But one afternoon, I was driving on the highway, and the sun was finally shining, and I felt elated. I had come to California to get away from all the distractions my little life held in Cincinnati. I look back on my life there, and I see so many happy times. But I also see so many heart-breaking, confusing, muddled times where I just felt as if I was thrown into a blender and someone hit Puree. And I take responsibility for each and every one of those moments with pride. While here, on the edge of the Earth, where the sun never shines and people are always high, I began to know who I was. I became one with what it was that I wanted and needed to make myself happy. To thrive in my relationship with my husband. To fulfill the wants and needs of my career. So how in the world could I ever pass something like that up?
I guess to answer my own question, the price of clarity is simply... priceless. Ask yourself what you might pay for something like this. Would you give up a year of your life, just as I? I hated each and every moment I spent here. I will never, ever look back and regret leaving. But I'll tell you this: I would do it all over again just to feel like I feel right now. Not driving away. Now, I'm driving toward.
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