Why do we forget?
Practicing happiness, Ursula Le Guin, Chicago Abortion Fund report-back, and a non-ambient music rec!
There’s a coffee shop I went to a few times in Edinburgh during the Fringe, Red Box Coffee. The remarkable thing about the place was the man who ran it. With every dish he bussed, he made genuine connections with customers, however brief.
Often when I see these kinds of perpetually cheery people, it gets grating. The smile is a little too tight or something. But Red Box Coffee Guy radiated a sincerity that told me, “Being positive is a skill. This man’s not just happy because it comes easy to him. His happiness is something he practices daily.”
His is the kind of happiness I strive for, but this Monday, I fell short.
I booked a small acting role on a TV show this week, and the part is fun and natural for me. It’s a two-line role, which is one more than I’ve had before. This being my third SAG job, I had to join the union to take it. That’s a feat in itself, a rite of passage for actors.
I knew there were initiation fees for joining the union, but I didn’t realize the “payment plan” they offered required a $700 deposit, more than my entire bank balance by half a grand. And of course I hadn’t saved from those previous jobs, like my agents advised me.
So Monday at 5pm, I was waiting for a bus that ran 45 minutes late in the midst of a day of traveling, getting rescheduled, waiting, and traveling again to the big production complex in town (1 hr 15 min from my apartment if I catch both buses at the perfect times), all for a 30-minute wardrobe fitting. And that’s when I discovered the truth of this down payment.
My filming started Wednesday, so I had barely a day to find a solution. I’ve been open about getting money from my parents in the past, but that’s no longer an option. I had to find the money or tell my agents I couldn’t do the part, and force the production to scramble to fill it, burning who knows how many bridges in the process.
On a desperate whim, I tweeted.
At first, there was a trickle, but within half an hour, big donations came in. Donations, not loans. I asked how I could repay one guy, and he told me, “Keep being awesome.” I had enough for dues, but also a Lyft when I ran behind Wednesday, plus a few weeks’ cushion until I get my union paycheck.
Part of me HATES writing telling the details of a story in which I received MONEY to help me take a PAID gig DOING ACTING. How undeserving, how spoiled, how privileged, can I be? But dwelling in the discomfort of this experience is a way of staying in that privilege and distancing myself from what happened: People showed up for me.
I recovered from my coma with a lot of attention, and I got used to that attention. I missed it as it dissipated. And that’s where this sentiment comes from:
I asked for help and I got it beyond. Beyond what I expected or imagined or hoped. I have the loftiest expectations of the world (read: entitlement), but my connection to the Mystery comes when those expectations are sidestepped yet blown away.
I feel a responsibility to the support I got Monday. It’s a responsibility not just to be grateful, but to practice gratitude. To contextualize suffering or, rather, discomfort, when it comes in the form of a 2 1/2-hour commute to ACT ON TV, a dream. My responsibility is to practice the skill of happiness daily. To be the Red Box Coffee Guy I want to see in the world.
Got a response to something here? Want to join my weekly workshops for storytelling or kickstarting your creative practice? Reply or comment, and I’ll hit you back.
THIS IS MY PODCAST, THIS IS YOUR AFTERLIFE
Brilliant, beautiful synth experimentalist Oui Ennui is my first return guest! As such, we focus less on the standard afterlife questions and instead follow Jonn (aka Oui) down tangents about language, defining a “brand” (and being disgusted by the term), and the reason afterlives exist in the first place. It’s called “Language and Linus Blankets,” and you’ll have to listen to the end to hear the latter reference.
I found this one soothing, and I hope you like it too. Let me know if you like the return-guest idea (and if there are specific guests you wanna hear again).
MOOD BOARD
Last week we donated $15 to the Chicago Abortion Fund, which is cool and good!
I’ve been really into Ursula Le Guin’s essays and interviews, and I hadn’t even read her fiction! That changed last night when I read “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas,” her short story about an almost-utopian society that thrives on a single, continued cruelty. Then I read “The Ones Who Stay and Fight,” hella acclaimed sci-fi writer N. K. Jemisin’s response story. (Shoutout to Mark Logsdon for the recommendations!) If you read these or have already, tell me what you think. They riff on ideas I’m always thinking about, and I’d love to have more conversations about these things.
MAY I PLAY YOU A SOUND?
I’m not sure how many people pay attention to my music recs (it’s okay if you don’t!), but I know minimal jazz, unsettling ambient music, and rain sounds don’t make for the most accessible tunes. So I’m happy to report, this week I’m passing along a certified slow-burning banger.
“Come and See Me” is a song I used to listen to on repeat before 12-step meetings in probably 2016. A weird association, and not particularly fitting for the song. But just know you can enjoy it even if you don’t have ladies telling you to come over to their place once in a while like Drake and PARTYNEXTDOOR.
So many skittering little drum patterns in this song, but the real star is that melody over top, endlessly repeating.
Thank you,
DM