this is my 19th chapter

This week marked the commencement of winter hibernation: when I join the throngs of black bears, bats, and other cave-dwellers and avoid all social interaction and food-outings for a very long time.

Sir Hunter Green and I (oh yes, he’s still here) enjoy late-night Thai food delivery, jazz and classic rock, and many beers. He’s shedding like a dog but he still exists kind of.

However, this year is unlike others. Last year at this time, I was living at my parent’s home, and hibernation was an all-year thing.

Now that I’m living on my own, my hibernation needs a new excuse. It’s not depression or Seasonal Affective Disorder or even laziness.

Let’s call it “shock.”

Because when I sat in my boss’ leather seat and listened to him promote me and ask, “How do you feel?” – I felt Nothing, and instantly got the clarity I’ve been seeking. I realized that–

I just don’t give a shit.

I sat there like a really bad actor, feigning excitement and doling out dialogue like, “Wow, this is great news. I am very happy.”

I sounded like a customer in one of those cheesy car dealership commercials. But I was worse than that actually, because I was a person acting in my real life, and that just feels awful.

But I guess this is what happens when you try so hard to deny what you love  – when you veer off course in pursuit of a career and a life that sounds good on paper. You sacrifice feeling much of anything.

And is it worth it? It’s up to you decide. There’s really no wrong answer. Happiness is the only compass, I guess.

I left early that night, picking up a honey-glazed rotisserie chicken and a couple of rolls.

I made a mess of the rolls. I was so hungry, I couldn’t really wait to slice the bread in half, so I just tore them apart like a black bear and devoured them. I think there’s still crumbs by the freezer.

Whoops.

I looked out the window at the city that’s been my home these past couple of months. What a crazy place. Who are these people living in these buildings next to me? Are they as confused as I am, shocked, feigning excitement? Just not giving a shit? Do they slice their rolls in half before eating them?

Maybe they’re really happy. If they are, I’d like to ask them how they got there. And maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll begin their story with, “If you ever told me a year ago I’d be…” Those are the best stories. They’re kind of heroic, you know? They’re surprising.

After watching “American Beauty” and eating an ice pop, I went back into my bedroom and pulled the boxes out from under my bed.

There sat the piles of screenplays I’ve written over the years, inspired by so many different and extreme moments in my life: graduating college, moving back home, having moderate success in film, peaking at 28, facing rejection, depression, losing my dog, falling in love, losing her, writing again, doubting again, and finally getting kicked out.

But what about New York? Perhaps it deserves its moment. I sat on the floor against my bed, wondering what it is I could write. Part of me feels like I need to live a bit more and I can’t force the inspiration, but part of me feels it’s already there.

And then the biggest part of me of all realized that already I was feeling more than “Nothing.” And if happiness is the only compass, then I think I am finding my direction.