written on January 16, 2015
Today is 13 weeks (3 months to the day tomorrow) since the surgery.
Wow. It feels like it’s been so much longer already, and yet it feels like it just happened last week.
I’m back at work. I returned to the ranks of the employed on January 5 and the first few days were a bit rough – mostly because I hadn’t sat in front of an editing system for 6 months to do any real editing work. That first Monday (Jan 5), I had to remember my keyboard shortcuts and the workflows I use. It took a few hours, but I figured it out. Now I’m pretty much back up to speed, which is nice.
December flew by before I knew where it went. My lack of blog-writing is more a problem of lack of blog-posting – I had written six blogs in December but didn’t post any of them. Now I think they’re a bit outdated, since most of my blogs refer to events as they are happening, or just recently did happen.
I spent a lot of time after moving back home cleaning the house and taking care of the kids. All things you do under the guise of Mr. Mom. Getting back into my “normal” life as a husband, father and unemployed disabled person took some getting used to. I like to think I’m used to it now. Each day still brings new challenges, though.
I had lunch with a producer friend of mine last week and she asked if I have had any epiphanies from this whole experience so far. Yes, I told her. Nothing earth-shattering, perhaps. One of the bigger ones is realizing that if you don’t like what you do as a job, then you really shouldn’t do it. I’ve discovered in the last two weeks that being an assistant editor is not what I want to do. I’ve been talking to the editor and the post producer about when I might be able to get a chance to edit. They both think I should be able to tackle an episode or two, at least, this season (we have a season order of 20 episodes and we just finished shooting episode 4 tonight). I’m hopeful that it will work out.
But even bigger than not doing something you don’t want to do is the realization that I do really need to pursue what it is that I want to do. My dreams of writing and directing, in other words.
I’m 41 now, and most of my adult life I’ve taken jobs that have paid me (sometimes well and sometimes not). They’ve always been jobs that have given me that sense of comfort in knowing that I had steady income and could rely on that, even when I didn’t enjoy the job. But life is too short to keep doing that for every job. If I can’t break out of this endless rut of jobs only for money, then why did I come to LA in the first place? Not to be an assistant editor, that’s for sure.
My producer friend also asked if I had any spiritual epiphanies. I avoided that question. Yes and no would be the answer. It’s not something I’m comfortable discussing with anyone - at least not yet. I still haven’t found the peace I want to find with what happened to me.
One day I might. And if I don’t, that’s okay too. I remember a refrigerator magnet that used to hang on the fridge in an apartment I lived in – something along the lines of one day you’ll realize that the answers you seek are usually right in front of you the whole time. The problem isn’t in seeking the answers, it’s making sure you’re asking the right questions.
Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. Maybe finding peace with all of this isn't what I want, or need. Part of me would still like to know why it happened. And will it happen again? Has going through an ordeal like this made me a better person? Has it changed the way I view life or love or the world around me? Only I can answer these questions. And maybe there aren’t answers. There aren't easy ones, that's for sure.
Whether or not I find answers to these and other questions, I’ll still wake up every morning and get out of bed, thankful that I’m alive and feeling better than I have in a long, long time. I'll figure out the answers I need eventually. It's just a matter of time...