So here it is, folks. The days are dwindling away until I am gone, back to New York to recalibrate and prepare for the next job.
As far as this city goes, I have to reiterate that living in Clarksville has felt like a return home. My psychological center has had a chance to shift back to my Southern, Pre-NYC days, a calm peace in the storm of the last two months. I feel that there is nothing I can’t deal with down South, where, even as the worst things happen, I can feel the breath of the land telling me that life keeps rolling along.
Like an old river.
The end of a contract always seems a little strange to me. There are the practical matters to address, such as packing, travel plans, etc. However, these bring an awareness of anticipation and moving on before the job is finished. The proverbial “they” always say, ‘don’t count your chickens before they hatch.’ That lesson should be gospel to actors, but we are excitable people.
I am always saddened at the end of a run as the shows are slowly tallied off. Three more to go. One more to go. I have never once looked up and found that a run was over. I have always seen it coming, and when I see something that I love about to end, I desire to possess it, and keep it like a ring in my pocket. And yet, in trying to hold on to the fleeting moment, I am brought evermore into the thralldom of time. This is an amazing paradox of the theatre. Actors are supposed to be bound to the moment, often at the same time that they are bound for the airport. It is a world in constant flux, sometimes calm, sometimes choppy, sometimes too deep to believe.
Like an old river.
At some point in my career, and life at large, I think I would like to see where my world goes; not to predict, not to project. I want to watch what happens as I wind around in untidy bends and curves, flowing steadily, beyond the concept of speed. Not fast, not slow, just as fast as I’m going to go. Then I look up and find myself flowing, straight on, into the sea.
I think you get the idea.
– Brandon Meeks
