So, my last Monday morning at AmEx finds me with little to do. Most of the projects I've been working on have ended and the rest of my week will merely involve putting together transition materials for the gal I've been reporting to, so she can officially take over my responsibilities. For those of you who haven't had the benefit of the full story, here's the nut of it...
I've been working for the past year and a half as a "Temporary Project Coordinator" for a very high-profile SVP at American Express. I was brought on board by a friend of mine who was serving as this SVP's Senior Executive Assistant. My job was to handle monthly cyclical administrative and planning projects as well as serve as "backup" to my friend, whenever she was out of the office - calendering, expenses and so on. The job kept me busy enough, but was never so insane that I didn't have time for auditions, travel, etc. As a temp, I never had to worry about whether someone was looking over my shoulder. When I wasn't here, I wasn't getting paid. Simple. That freedom was (and still is) necessary for someone maintaining a full-time job while actively pursuing an entirely separate full-time job.
Back in March my friend left the company, and in the intervening months the office has gone through a "re-org" involving a fairly extensive "headcount". (These office terms never fail to trigger very intense bile burps, which I'm now stuck trying to wash down with lukewarm street-cart coffee.) Basically, our division got the word from on high that they needed to trim some of the fat from their budget - and my position was included in that bulge.
So, I was informed that June 15th was going to be my last day. Okay... fine. I've been fairly miserable here anyway, so that part of it was no sweat. The hitch, though, is... what fuckin'
now?
And this is the part that I've been grappling with for the last couple weeks. It's bigger than just finding another job.
That I can do in my sleep. No, it's something far peskier and more complex. It has become an impromptu existential evaluation of my entire life up to this point. And this one happens to be coming at a time when my mind is particularly fecund with "what if" scenarios.
I'm juggling all of these balls, see, and right now they're all frozen in mid-air. Here's a breakdown of the different things I'm awaiting
some form of resolution or forward movement on:
- The Day Job - I've met with several staffing agencies and submitted my resume independently for a bunch of things I found on craigslist, Monster, HotJobs and New York Jobs for the Arts. All admin/assistant/project coordinator type stuff. All of which I'm skilled in and can make really decent money at, but all of which make me want to yark all over my keyboard at the very thought of having to do them for eight hours a day. Regardless, only one interview so far. No other solid prospects in sight. Nothing lined up for the 18th.
- The Career - Had a meeting with a talent manager three weeks ago, which went very well. Not 100% sold on the idea of a manager yet anyway, but they said they'd be getting back to me re: a second meeting after they'd watched my L&O tape which, as of last week, they hadn't done yet. Also met an agent through One-on-One about a month or so ago, who I've been exchanging e-mails with since. Told me last week that she was leaving for vacation, but wanted to set up a meeting as soon as she gets back. So, I'm waiting on that.
- The Apartment - The Missus and I had started entertaining the notion of trying to find a new apartment. Still in Astoria, still a two bedroom, but bigger. We basically got laughed out of 6 different brokers offices when we said we wanted to leave a $1200 2-br private house that allows pets. So right now, that idea's on hold. And in the meantime, we're confronted with putting our own money and a shitload of effort into fixing up our current place so we can stomach it for another year. Which feels like an expensive and ultimately unsatisfying way to tread water.
- The Looming Maybe-Baby - So, we know we probably need to get cracking on that by next spring if we're thinking of eventually having more than one, which poses a whole 'nother set of predicaments as far as the first two points are concerned.
So, there's a lot going on. There are a lot of potentialities. I'm at an obvious crux. Something different is ostensibly around the corner, but I have no idea what it is or what I'll be expected to do with it once it gets here - whenever it finally does get here. Which is fine. If I wanted certainty, I'd be a dentist. I guess what I'm looking for is somewhere south of certainty, but a couple blocks north of I Have Absolutely No Fucking Clue What's Going On.
I'm very much feeling 33 right now. Or maybe more accurately, I'm feeling 34 lurking weightily around the corner. I'm feeling like I'm grappling with the same stuff I was grappling with at 25... 27... 30. Except this time, it's different. Because I'm going to be 34.
The reason this is all feeling heavier than usual is no mystery. I'm getting older. Which means that a certain amount of fatigue has begun to seep into my bones from 12 straight years of precarious balancing. The duality of the artist and the guy-with-very-real-financial-responsibilities-and-goals. The high-wire act. The old song. Confronting questions about what I'm doing to make money until I'm making money the way I want to be making money. And how that all works when the audible ticking of a clock underscores my every move. As well as very real notions of things like buying a house (apartment), medical insurance, providing for a family, saving for retirement, etc. starting to creep in. The apparent point at which it seems a decision has to be made. How long do you give yourself? At what age do you pack it in - get a respectable and reliable job so you can give your kids a life where they live in a decent neighborhood, go to a good school, have money for things they need without question and whatnot? And by doing that, have you sealed an even more bleak fate for them by becoming a strangled, resentful mess - drowning in a sea of blue shirts and hoggida-hoggida?
Seems if you're gonna have kids, you should be able to look them in the eye. And I think I'd have a hard time doing that if I knew I'd shitcanned everything I'd worked for just because it was hard.
Which leaves the idea of the "secondary career". Something that I could see myself doing that I might actually have an aptitude for and would not make me throw up, but would still ultimately be equivalent to giving up. Doing music supervision for films or A&R at a record label or music journalism or freelance writing of some kind. All of which require training (and skill) that I don't immediately have and would never fully make me happy anyway.
So, that's where I'm at. I've taken ALL of these issues on at once and am feeling an internal scramble to get them all sussed out by JUNE 15th. Which is utterly fucking ridiculous.
I'm fine.
I'm hassled, exasperated, fed-up, worn-out, pissed-off, clueless and a little roughed up...
...But fine.
And in 33 years, the Man Upstairs has never just completely left me out to dry. So, for now... I'm choosing to let go. I'm choosing to relenquish my anxiety. I'm choosing to trust.
And if all of that doesn't work...
THEN I'll become a dentist.
I'm going to be there. The Missus is going to be there. Basically, anyone who's cool is going to be there. Do you think you're cool? Maybe, maybe not. If I look across the room at the John Street Thursday night and see you drinking a beer and howling for more Neil Poynter originals, I will deem you such. If you're not there... like, if you decide to stay home and watch MustSeeTV or something - you are most definitely not cool. In fact, you're impossibly lame. Sorry. My judgements are swift, accurate and ultimately final in these situations.
