This Saturday is my birthday. I was born on Long Island, NY on May 26th, 1981 at 6:36 pm, EDT.
I’ve been living in Los Angeles since August 25th, 2003. I was 22 when I got here.
I’m turning 37.
To borrow a phrase, “What a long, strange trip it’s been.”
I’ve said it before on here, and I’ll say it again: my life in L.A. has not gone to plan at all.
That’s not a bad thing; I’ve had a lot of incredible experiences, both personally and artistically.
I own my own business. I run a non-profit. I’ve become a critically acclaimed and/or award-winning artist across multiple disciplines. I’m a published writer. I’m a well-established figure in my community.
But y’know, leave it to me to find some reason to not be satisfied with all of that.
Ultimately, I suffer with the frustration that, in spite of the twists and turns my life has taken, and all that I’ve accomplished, I still haven’t achieved what I originally set out to do: build a successful career in TV and film.
Lately, I find myself wrestling with this persistent, gnawing sense of urgency in my gut any time I’m doing anything other than working on my career. I mean, I get it. I’m not getting any younger.
But the fact that the pressure feels all-consuming lately has been causing me a lot of stress and anxiety.
So, with that in mind, the present I’m giving myself on my 37th birthday is twofold:
- a re-commitment to the relentless pursuit of my original goals
- the permission to focus on other things without guilt
When I spell it out like that, it seems kind of counterintuitive, doesn’t it?
But it makes sense to me, and I suppose that’s all I really need to worry about. 🙂
Anyway, that’s it for now.
Onward and upward.
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