Perpetual Motion Machinery

When I sat down to write this piece a few weeks ago, it was initially entitled, “On Rest & Burrata.” I imagined it would be a short anecdote about how going to Trader Joe’s, buying some burrata, and indulging in a rich meal was somehow representative of the permission I was granting myself to slow down during quarantine. There would be some moral about how I no longer had to sprint towards perfectionism or be bound by the compulsive karmic scoreboard of rigid veganism. I imagined it would neatly sum up how I was using the pause of quarantine to enjoy the sensual pleasures of life and be gentler with myself.

But, the world has changed in just these few short weeks. Quarantine no longer looks like a much-needed pause to our perpetual motion machine of modern Western life, but rather a long-standing, brand-new reality that will have permanent repercussions for the years and decades to come. And honestly, as I sat on my bed that evening indulging in both my dinner and several episodes of Normal People, I was not invested in permanently changing. I wanted to use that brief moment to somehow convince myself that I am not addicted to achievements — that I can allow myself to rest and enjoy the simple things in life, if only for a day. But, it was only for a day. I would be lying if I didn’t tell you the next morning I woke up with guilt in its many forms: guilt about the calories from the meal, the ethical implications of eating dairy, and how I had watched two actors my age star in a beautiful series while I sat waiting for an audition to even appear. 

The truth is, I have learned to give myself a brief moments of rest before my body collapses, but even the fact that I can let myself do that is a newfound skill learned the hard way from several winters spent with walking pneumonia in college. But now, as I stare down months or even years of quarantine being our new reality, I am paralyzed with anxiety. I had my plan written out for this year: booking one or two small television roles, forming relationships with casting directors, writing poems and screenplays, and maybe even making another short film. But the industry as we knew it may not ever return. And yes, I know I can do so many of those things on my own from my little apartment, but there is something else missing: achievement and recognition.

I think talking about recognition or achievement (or their more vain cousin, fame) is a dirty word in the entertainment industry, but I believe most artists and creatives would be lying if we said we didn’t want some level of acknowledgement. We want to share our work with others and have them enjoy it. I think many of us are able to trick ourselves because we do not want to become the next Kardashian or Justin Bieber constantly flanked by paparazzi. But, we have our own versions of external validation that we crave – some type of critical achievement that what we are creating is enough and therefore we are enough. A tangible manifestation of our worthiness that we can show to our families back home or those kids who bullied us in middle school and go, “Look at me. I did something. I am finally enough.” So many casual conversations are about marketing your latest success, hoping that the person on the receiving end will outstretch their hand and offer you the key to your next step. If you do not have a recent accomplishment, you have nothing to sell. 

I have been in this perpetual motion machine for as long as I can remember. My joy is often directly proportional to my academic or career achievements. I have begun to fill my life with wonderful friendships and a journey of self-understanding, but the shadow element within my desire to be an actor and writer is still there. It is the insatiable hunger to be something, anything at all. And by that, I can only mean the desire to one day become the elusive “the best.” Because, if I am “the best,” then maybe, for the first time in my life, I can stop sprinting. Maybe then, with no one left to compare or compete with, I will finally feel safe enough in who I am.

There’s been a lot of debate these days over productivity during quarantine. A friend of mine told me that she is not sure if she should liken quarantine to a sick day where you just rest and recover, or a snow day where you look ahead and prepare for the future. For every article about maximizing your productivity or post that shames you for not currently writing the next great American novel, there are three responses telling you that it is okay to relax, let yourself be, and survive during this unprecedented time. I think the latter camp is right. We are going through a time of unknown change and even trauma. We need to allow ourselves the grace and time to do what we need to survive this moment. 

But, what if this is more than just a moment? I can live through a pause, a breath, a metaphorical instant where I twirl some fettuccine around my fork and watch Connell profess his love to Marianne, but I don’t know what to do if my arrow of ambition can no longer find the bull’s-eye of external validation.

While writing this piece, I came across a beautiful quote from Baba Ram Dass:

If you have spent your whole life becoming somebody and having something, and then with awakening you turn around and you start the journey in the other direction of becoming nothing, becoming nobody and having nothing. It would seem to make the whole first part of life meaningless or some sort of error.

But it’s important to see that this sequence is a necessary sequence, that when one takes incarnation in an evolutionary moment when one is going to awaken, you still have to become somebody and become grounded on earth before you can do the spiritual work.

Part of the experience of living richly has been identification with the desires and emotions, with the passions of life, with the hatreds and the joys, with what I call the “mellow drama” of life. Each of us has an intense drama going on around ourselves. Will we, won’t we, can we, can’t we, should we, shouldn’t we? And with awakening one begins to see the way one has been trapped in one’s story line. But it doesn’t mean the story ends. The Ram Dass story is alive and well. The only question is, who’s living it?

Am I Ram Dass or am I just, “I am”?

There is a part of me the loves the drama of success, the challenge of achieving, the passionate push-pull of “will they or won’t they” and “am I or am I not?” Those ups and downs and preoccupations have brought so much richness and zeal to my life. I don’t think I am fully ready to let that “mellow drama” go. I still gain something from it. But, the task now is to begin to focus on doing the work for the work’s sake. To find the joy in the process, not in the product. While I had heard that phrase for years during theatre school, it was always a lesson that I hoped I could circumvent, or at the very least learn gradually. I imagined myself out-sprinting life’s lessons with my achievements, or standing firmly in my middle age with both a grounded sense of self-worth and a fully blooming CV. Who knows, maybe I can still learn how to have my cake and eat it too. Asceticism for asceticism’s sake just seems like replacing one form of achievement and perfection for another. I don’t want to stand at the twilight of my life wishing I had allowed myself to fully pursue my dreams instead of punishing myself for having a desire in the first place. My one hope is to use this time to find what it is in my work, and even my relationships, that truly brings me fulfillment and joy, and find how I can live in that holy space from a more grounded and internally connected place. Those moments may be fleeting, much like catching a stranger’s smile underneath their mask as you walk past each other in the street, but they are deeply nourishing.

And if you think I didn’t write this blog post partially to gain some type of external attention and validation, you’re kidding yourself. But hey, I’m not looking to be perfect ;)