My time in Chicago brought some interesting realizations. I spent the week there with my mentor, teacher from Juilliard and it’s true, I experienced some motherly moments with her. Now, my mother and I have been working on our relationship and I think it’s the best it’s ever been. But the thing I truly realize is that she and I are more alike than not. She is determined to live her life and I have nothing but respect for that.
Growing up, she would occasionally visit and take us shopping or out for dinner and we would take trips to her house in Maryland and Virginia and the truth is she loved her life.
I recently had an audition to play a son who from the sound of the monologue was getting ready to say goodbye to his father and expresses that he wished he told him he loved him more. In one part of the monologue, he talks about how the father settled and he never understood until he had his own son and in that moment thanks his father and tells him he loves him. Now, without going into further detail because the written material isn’t mine, I think on average the person reading this text would think that the father sees the child as a gift. But I honestly thought there might be some regret. Are all parents really happy being parents? I don’t think so. I really believe that some fall into the societal idea that we are supposed to settle, there’s that word again, and have kids. But deep down inside I know if I do that, a part of me will die or at least I will loose a part of me that I am not ready to give up yet. Now, I’m not saying that people who have kids don’t have wonderfully, happy experiences but I’m not there yet. Don’t know if I ever will be. One thing I do know, it’s better to not take on the responsibility of something so monumental if you know you’re not ready or it’s not what u want. I have so much more of my life to live and there really is no rush.
Going back to my teacher, the wonderful moments that we shared did make me realize some of the things I missed out on most but what she did give me were moments where I didn’t have to pretend to be anything or anyone but who I am. We sat one the porch talking and I was in my surang. If I opened my legs, my member would have fallen out, visible to all. I went on scruff and talked every day to a guy who wanted me to be his bdsm master and liked it. The thing that I realized wasn’t that if I had different parents I’d be this wholesome idea of a good American boy. I am who I am and I just needed to be around someone who wouldn’t judge me for it. That’s healing.