So I went to see my old friend, Scott.
He had given me a ten minute window to talk to him.
About my hopes. My dreams. My life.
What was left of it and what it might become.
Scott hadn’t actually called me to set up the appointment. He had an assistant call me. Scott would see me, she said, for 10 minutes. He would “read me”, which was basically handing me a scene or part of a scene, to see what I had in me that could be delivered unto the world.
Quite frankly, at that point in time, I had nothing.
I was still bereft, still in shock and still deeply depressed by the events that preceded my move back to Los Angeles.
All I really had left in me was 3 cracked ribs from the all crying I had done in the months before, mostly healed but still a little painful when I did things like breathe. And maybe a teeny, tiny, little bit of hope.
I had about 3 days until our appointment to compose my thoughts and figure out what I was going to ask him.
Like, “How can an almost 60 year old woman begin a career I had abandoned many decades ago in favor of eating regularly and sleeping under a roof?”
How do I start? How do I start over? Where do I go? Who do I see? How can I get there? Where is there?
I had decided to resume a thing I knew in my heart, without a shadow of a doubt that I was born to be.
Born To Be.
If I had wanted to be anything else other than who I knew I was supposed to be, who I was, it wouldn’t have been so terrifying.
Because that is the basic problem with things like the truth. Once you know what it is, it can no longer be denied. You have to pay attention to it. You can’t stuff it into a cardboard box, or the back of your underwear drawer, along with all those old pairs of pantyhose you no longer wear because pulling them up and down to go to the bathroom just became too much of a pain in the ass.
The truth is like a flip of switch that can’t be switched back. I know you know what I am talking about. There is that one moment, that one split second, when that voice in your head who you have been trying your best to ignore for weeks or months or years just says, “Enough”.
And you can no longer pretend that your job is okay or your marriage or relationship is okay or your kids are okay or the house you live in is okay or the noise you hear when you start your car is okay or the way you have been living your life or spending your time is okay.
And now that you know it is no longer okay, you have to do something about it. Something had to change. Something has to change. And you are the only one who will be able to make that change. Because if you don’t, things only get worse. And they will get worse and worse and worse and worse until you are finally forced to take some kind of action that will change your life for the better. Even if you have no idea of what “better” is.
You know that’s true. And so do I. And very soon, so would Scott Sedita.
So I got in my car and headed to Scott’s Studio.
It wasn’t exactly in The Emerald City. It was in an area Google Maps calls Central Los Angeles, but that was close enough for me.
I had ordered a copy of one of his books – The Eight Characters of Comedy.
It hadn’t arrive from Amazon but I thought that since Scott had written it, I might be able to bypass the actual reading of it and he could just tell me which of the characters out of the eight I might be.
I was hoping for Lucille Ball.
But whoever it was, I was sure that part of the conversation would only take up maybe 90 seconds of our 10 minute consultation.
He would then have 510 seconds to tell me what to do.
It would have to be enough.
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END PART TWO