On the way into teach tonight, I was thinking about the past, the present, and the future. No moment was more poignant than the one when I drove past the coffee shop where Crystal, Mary, and I hatched Crossroads (or The Piano of Death).
While I was driving by that cafe, I was listening to my favorite podcasters, Merlin Mann and Dan Benjamin, pondering the question “how many Saturdays do you have left?”, and I was thinking about my friend Jon, who’s been in the hospital recovering from some pretty scary shit.
This sounds depressing. I don’t mean it to. What I’m aiming for—what I think Merlin and Dan were aiming for—is sobering. Contemplative.
On a recent car ride, Jon and I shook to make official his involvement in my upcoming play, Temptress (more on that later). I can’t help thinking, despite the fact that he and I have done a podcast together for years, that we’ve collaborated on scripts behind the scenes for just as long, and that he ran the server for my Website for years, that we took far too long to work together on something like this. Now he’s in the hospital and I’m thinking, “how many Saturdays do me and my friend have left?” And, more than that, what are we going to do with them?
Someone I know in another capacity came up to me today and asked, about his job situation, that I give him one solid reason why he shouldn’t up and quit right now. The place was frustrating him. He wasn’t inspired anymore. And, you know what? I couldn’t come up with anything to say to him. Life’s too short, man.
I’ve alluded to it on Facebook and Twitter, but now it’s time to be public about it on my Website: I’m doubling down on art, this fall. I’m going to be down to one job, and it’s about damn time I quit waiting for tomorrow or next month or next year. Because, here’s the thing, the silly clichéd goddamned thing: the only guarantee is today. The answer to the question about how many Saturdays might be “not many” or it might be “a whole bunch,” but the answer is also—always—“never enough.”