I’m going to London for a month.
I’ve got to turn in a script first, then I’m going. Because I can. Because this is the kind of thing I always fantasized about as a child – this is what I thought my life would be like. And so far, for the most part, it hasn’t been.
But something big shifted inside me this year. Maybe it was that I got so sick – (I’m feeling a lot better now, thanks to some good doctors and a ton of work on my part) – but all of a sudden I just got on a really gut level how important it was for me to make myself happy. How, if I don’t do it now, no one will do it for me. How I can’t just wait for it to happen.
Even a few months ago I would have laughed at the idea of *me* leaving L.A. for a month. But what if I miss something amazing! I never would have done it.
But then I got really sick – and felt really alone – and suddenly the prospect of missing something amazing in L.A. felt a hell of a lot less scary than the thought of missing my entire life – the thought that if I didn’t do something drastic, now, I might never have the kind of life I always just assumed would be mine.
Believe me – I know it’s not possible for everyone to just leave town on an impulsive whim. But I think it’s more possible than you might think. I used money as the excuse for far too long – telling myself “you can start doing what you want when you have more money.” But I think that’s an excuse, because at a very deep level I needed to not move forward. I’m trying to figure out where that need came from – possibly knowing that my father would reject me if I did pretty much anything to benefit myself or make myself happy?
But my father has already rejected me, countless horrible times. So why does this childish voice inside me keep insisting that if we just do it better this time, it will be different? If we just freeze and stay needy and stop growing, he’ll have no reason to be upset.
So I’m going to London.
And my question is – what’s your London? And why aren’t you going?