Every few days I am reminded of something that happened to me four years ago. I was up late one night by myself watching TV. Things were difficult at that time-a lot of depression and emptiness and whatnot. Some channel was airing a two hour documentary on the making of one episode of Saturday Night Live. It followed the writers and cast and Lorne as they made the episode from nothing. Watching that show ushered me into one of the worst depressive moments of my life. I kept realizing, with every passing commercial break, how desperately I wanted to be a part of something like that. I had secretly dreamed of being an actor since I was a kid but had always pushed it away as "shallow" or "childish."
That night I added another word: impossible. I was simply too old at 28, too established, too submerged into my career, too "needed" by other people to chase a selfish immature dream. And I went to bed that night full of regret and grief. I think sometime after that I confessed to Debbie that I would like to take improv classes sometime as a hobby. I said this but I knew I would never take the time to do it. But the next Christmas she surprised me with the classes from The Second City. Then things started to change.
Today I was walking from an audition at the LA film school on Sunset to another audition on Hollywood Blvd. (For a guest star role in Barbershop, a sitcom on Showtime.) As I turned the corner onto Hollywood a fire engine with sirens blaring nearly knocked me over. I walked for a while and then looked down to notice the stars on the sidewalk. My right foot was on "Mr. Rogers." Then it hit me. I'm living a life that I thought was impossible four years ago. That's a remarkable place to be.