The Single Guy Retires

Fear. It can't hurt me. So, it hurt another. Through me. One would think having someone who loves you, waiting when you land, to be a good thing. I went for the other option, which was to "spare" the person who loves me from whatever awaited me on my new journey. As always, a third option existed, which is usually the true path. Fortunately, I saw that path the moment I landed.

In the past, no matter how despondent I might be after a break-up, the first part of me in motion is "The Single Guy". He's ready to go but willing to wait for the rest of me to catch up. Of course, "The Single Guy" could also be mistaken for a certain body part, but in my case, he gets to be a character i my story. There are many characters in my head, I mean 'story'. Oh, and I'm sure this "Single Guy" sounds like a lot of guys you know. But like I said, he's just one of many and from the moment I wake up in the morning, everyone is ready to go and everyone goes together. That's right, it's like the running of the bulls. So, no matter how excited "Single Guy" is, he knows he has to wait for everyone else to catch up.

This had to be rough in film school, right? In New York City? A building full of actresses and dancers? What kind of torture was this for "Single Guy"? Well......none at all. Not a peep from the guy. He'd retired and no one told me. 

Normally, when Single Guy leads the charge, everyone else has to summon the energy to ask questions, be original, ask for a number, etc.  None of this was happening. Wanna know the weirdest thing? Without the neurotic energy of pursuing women, I enjoy them so much more! So, that was a relief. But someone else was enjoying the opposite sex, or so I thought. And I'm sure she wasn't going to be as thrilled as I was about my discovery. Sure, I was excited to let her know that I had found the right path and it did not involve dating at all. But she made sure I knew one thing. She wasn't done dating at all. 

There I was, with a new life and no one to share it with. Go on, tell me what an idiot I was. I know by now. I'll be writing more about life since then in future blogs. My life with Maggie. But what did it take to set me straight? I'm afraid it's anti-climactic. Cute, but anti-climactic.

I went to see Black Panther a second time. I was by myself, which is actually fine for me. However, I was sitting in my car and a single thought occurred to me. What's Maggie doing? Then, another. Is she on a date? That was when Single Guy's friend Mr. Imagination took over. Don't worry, it didn't have to go far. All I saw in my mind was Maggie on a date with a guy who didn't even have a face. And they were having a helluva time. I immediately shut down.

So I take out the phone and send her an e-mail. I inform her of what Mr. Imagination has done. I don't like it. I DON'T like it. Not. one. bit. So I suggest we see Black Panther together. Was there something special about Black Panther that got us back together. Not at all. It could have been Transformers 15. OK, maybe I'm getting carried away but the point is I put my hand on her knee and when I got away with it, I swear I knew I had a chance. That hand on the knee would be my first in however many steps it took to get her back......AND........

WE MADE OUT IN THE PARKING LOT!

Gone

It took me forty years to join the human race. Can you blame me? I was born here. That much is true. I often refer to the story of Superman because I owe so much to my adoptive parents. Still, as much as I don't feel like I'm from around here, I was not actually born on another planet. I used to tell people I was born in Rosedale, Queens. That is where my parents lived when they brought me home. When I was 25, I had to fish out my birth certificate for the DMV to update my license. It said I was born in Buffalo, NY. I had to ask my parents what that was all about. Now, I know that, in December 1978, a young Catholic couple gave me up to a Catholic orphanage for adoption. My parents, who were on a list, were notified. They immediately flew from Queens to Buffalo. They had to answer questions and do paperwork but had to leave without me. The orphanage sent someone to Queens to inspect the house I'd be brought to. Finally, in February of 1979, my parents flew to Buffalo again to bring me home.

Maybe those two months were a head start. I love my parents. I have never been curious about or sought out my birth parents. I used to say my origins are mysterious. You might say I claimed them for myself. Speaking and reading came easily. Not long after I start school, they put me in a program called Gifted & Talented. This seems to trigger a particularly aggressive wave of "What are you going to be when you grow up?" pressure. On some level, I must have sensed that my mind was something of value. It became my cockpit. Instead of taking it in all the directions placed before me, what if I grabbed the controls and never let go? What could I accomplish? It seems I ascended and took my place among the other satellites, unwilling to come down until it was on my terms. See the previous entry, Re-Entry, if you're curious how that went.

I named this post after a U2 song with the refrain: I'm not coming down. That would be roughly the first forty years of my life. Yet, this year I began a one year conservatory program in film and TV producing at New York Film Academy. On the same day, I broke up with my girlfriend. Again, see previous entry. 

Then, see the next entry.