To borrow one of the best-known lines in literary history, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It was the time of my rebirth, my reincarnation, the beginning of rediscovering myself. I had been laid off for about four months and was at the point of embracing the period for its subtle brilliance. I had moved past the guilt, the pain, the sense of failure, and the loss of my total identity. Perhaps it could have been a false sense of hope, perhaps it was the mood-enhancing supplements I was taking (natural, of course), or perhaps I was becoming the man I never knew I could be. They say that some blessings come in disguise, and in this case, the roller coaster and deep pitfalls of capitalism were about to unveil their robes of mystery to me.
The sun shined brightly and reflected off the green hills of the Malibu coastline. The ocean breeze sweeping across provided much-needed relief to the increasing heat my body was giving off as I hiked up the hill. It was a Monday morning, just around 11 a.m., and I felt an incredible sense of peace and connection as I reached the waterfall in the center of the cascades.
A few months earlier my Monday morning wasn't quite as beautiful. It was around 9 a.m. I had a voicemail and a missed call. It was the president. No, not the U.S. president, but my companyʼs president -- urgent. I felt an uneasiness. It wasnʼt unusual to wake up to a flutter of emails and urgent calls, but I had a sixth sense about this one. Ten minutes later, I knew why. I had been fired. First time in my career. As the line disconnected, so did my connection to myself.
I would love to tell you how strong I was, that I had a Plan B, that I was this macho man, taking it all in stride. In truth, I felt broken. The only thing I did know was that I wasnʼt going to give them the satisfaction of provoking the angry queen, which I sensed they wanted. Iʼd been here before: the corner of lost and alone.
A month rolled by; seconds were decades, minutes were centuries. Life zipped by, but I stood frozen, as if someone pressed "pause" on my life and my mind. I watched TV, and more TV, and more TV, until my life revolved around the guide, and days were only acknowledged and recognized by what programs filled by screen. If Will & Grace was on, I knew it was sometime between 9 and 11. Thank you, Lifetime.
I remember rushing to the airport, determined not to miss another flight; somehow I was always five minutes past the check-in time and missing my damn flight. Not this time. After the flight, it was a visit to the baggage terminal. Next, it was the rental car counter, and before I knew it, I was on a conference call.
It becomes so routine that you canʼt recall a time when you werenʼt planning itineraries.The sense of purpose rushes through your veins until the day ends and you sit alone in your room and youʼre reminded of reality. Check Facebook: new pictures posted. You arenʼt tagged in any. You never are; youʼre never there. You find yourself in a hotel room, or on the freeway, or at the airport, more than in your own room. Dating: forget about it. I was never in town long enough to remember your name.
Next stop: Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, but only in person, hardly ever in spirit. I climbed that metaphorical ladder like a determined solider, yet I was falling and was completely oblivious. It was all becoming routine, and I was become a stranger to myself. I had never felt so lost yet so perfectly positioned for success.
Acting was now my forte. Each time I stepped on the stage, I knew my mark. However, as all actors hate to admit, they are pawns on a much larger chess board, the art becoming lost with each outside instruction. What you learn quickly is that everything in America is a business -- even books. Anything that is interesting can be marketed for profit -- especially you.
I was a regional with the title of assistant, going from managing six locations to four states, without so much as a title change. I was once told they thought I was some twink, easy to push around. Each time I met with the board, they learned I was anything but, which is how I came to be in my situation.
I hit my first store of the day, and after the initial check-in (note inventory levels, merchandising, assortment, placement), conversation ensued -- thatʼs where the day really began. The product becomes secondary; you become the primary. With the stores, you play up your sexuality -- everyone loves a gay man. With the corporate office, you play it down. They both respond to conformity.
I wasnʼt the flaming queen or the board room executive; I was me. I had a voice that was not definable but that would be heard, if I could ever figure out where it was located.
The phone rings. The lines becomes disconnected, and so do I. The life I knew ceased to exist, and the life I wanted was frightened to exist.
I get out of bed, turn the TV off; it's around 10 a.m. I find my voice. Heʼs pissed. Heʼs had enough of Grace.
I look out to the hills around me and revel in the vastness of the universe. A new life has just begun.