Allegory of the Naive

I don’t fancy my leaving TC as a momentous occasion but rather as a means to an end, an end I promised myself a long time ago and knew I needed to start now before comfort turned to fear, and then ultimately into a regrettable existence. Like The Allegory of the Cave with a happy ending.

We all have our reasons for leaving or staying. Although other’s opinions never really mattered much to me, nothing but hard booze could soothe the sting of someone awed by your talent asking “why are you still here” and prophesying how your gifts would be better appreciated somewhere else. On the thirtieth time hearing this you can already see the lines you’ll carve into your forearms. But one opinion made a difference when my friend Grace put it all into perspective for me. I expressed how proud I was of her picking up at eighteen and heading off to New York City to teach inner-city youths. I told her how brave it was and how I envied her. “But, Atticus,” she said, “I’m proud of you for staying in that town and doing the best you can. I believe it’s strong of you to stay there and make a life for yourself. That’s something I could never do.”

From this I calmed to a temporary satisfaction in life that helped me push to newer heights. Better jobs, better relationships, and a new holistic outlook on life followed. These simple words Grace put before me were a catalyst, but not in the way I thought. I know now that I was, and still am to some extent, looking for acceptance. This has been my modus operandi from the first time I ever stood on stage and felt the pure ringing of applause jolt me like a wave, filling my ears and heart with encouragement. Since then I’ve always yearned for more than friends and family. I wanted an audience.

But as my performing dwindled, the need for acceptance never did. It wasn’t like my mother and friends weren’t always there for me, reminding me how truly valuable I am, because they were and I will always treasure them for that. But the one thing I had never been told was that it’s okay to stay in TC and be happy, whether you are talented or not. It’s my decision. This wasn’t only in defense of my talent to random “well-wishers” but also an acceptance of who I was.

Again, this was temporary and the urges to leave grew even stronger. I needed to prove to myself that I can sustain happiness outside of the fish bowl. I needed to shed this life, take a new path and start over. But these weren’t the only demons clawing at my insides.

Whenever I saw someone in the newspaper with their new spouse or on Facebook, across the country with sparkles in their eyes and new people in their photos, I’d think about how they wake up and see a whole different world outside of their window. The smells and temperature completely different. When I knew them we saw the same mornings, knew the same people and felt the same sun. But now they feel a different side of the sun warm their face.

A couple years ago, my dear friend and former lover saw the obvious fire in my eyes. She knew dreams I pushed down so deep I couldn’t find, like my need to travel, to be alive in a big city with my bigger dreams. She suggested I visit my friend Jacob in New York and see the biggest city in America for myself. She though I’d catch the bug and pursue the burning she knew was in my soul. She always knew me better that I knew myself. She was smart enough to send me toward my dreams. She was strong enough to let go when I was pulling her down. She is an angel because she has been my biggest cheerleader of this new adventure.

I did catch the bug, but not until over a year later. There I was in pile of my own bullshit, trapped in the cell I created to keep me comfortable, in the town where I knew my way and people knew my name. I glued myself there with goals of mediocrity painted a dull shade of settling. When the women and the jobs were all consumed, I glued myself to a barstool with enough scotch to sedate a colt, letting youth run down the side of my cheek while guzzling every last drop, just in case this time it didn’t distort reality enough to not picture death at night. I was sick of seeing so many people with new lives and wondering why it wasn’t happening to me.

So, in only the way I know how, I made it happen.

Unlike The Allegory of the Cave, there are no urges to go back home. I have no intention of looking back. I want to be the one in pictures that people trapped in their town can look at and wish they were here with me in my mornings, seeing my new smiles. The sun may be too bright, but the longer it melts over my face and races down my neck the less I need the comfort of shade. For now, I am home. Granted I am partially intoxicated on the idea of love and new beginnings in the big city, much like Hollywood has glamorized it, but that’s alright. I’ve spent too long wrapped in practicality’s blanket. My dreams are returning and the colors are brighter than before. These are the means I’ve been waiting for.