Terror

I wish I could go running.  It's the only time I feel really in control nowadays, on the lakefront, either biking to work or running my five mile loop.  I'm a little stuck right now, between projects, between lives, between being convinced by myself and utterly unconvinced.  When I strap my running shoes on and head out, iPod on shuffle, life opens up again and feels possible, even if the sensation fades as soon as I slow to a walk.

Knowing this, one would think I'd be running non-stop, but naturally, I find it hard to motivate sometimes.  This morning, however, I'd do it, but the weather is truly suspicious and I fear I'd have a ton of rain dumped on my head.  So inside I sit, and I try to convince myself to clean the house instead.

I just need to mean something, produce something, finish something.  Not being in a play or having a theatre project to work on always leaves me unfocused and uncertain.  This time I'm afraid it will be a long, long time before I book another project, and I fear the length of that time.  How do I survive it?  How do I stay alive long enough to re-open delight and investment?

As I write that, it feels pretty entitled.  No one guaranteed me delight.  Still, today I envy those with the talent and luck to move from play to play to play or project to project, whatever it may be.  I still hope to be one of those people someday.