Page 76 of Script Swap
“End goal?”I offered tentatively.
“Well, let’s pretend we know the correct term and move forward.There isn’t a destination.All we have is the journey.The process.Reaching out to know the world.Reaching in to know ourselves.Trying to make sense of what it means to be human.Trying to say something about it means to be in a body in the world.To be alone.To be together.I was a terrible actor.But do you know something?I’m a pretty good artist, as I eventually discovered.And more importantly, I love the work that I do.I love making the pieces I make.Even the ones—maybe especially the ones—that the tourists don’t want to buy.I love them because they’re me, and because they’re true, and because even though they made me want to drink an unhealthy amount of absinthe in the process, making them was satisfying and meaningful to me in a way that has nothing to do with whether anyone buys them.”
“I know—” I began.
But then I stopped.Because—did I know?I mean, sure, you can’t spend any time at all around writers without hearing the phraseprocess over product, or some variation.In my own teaching, I’d probably given some version of the same speech over and over again—that publishing a book was separate from the writing, and that the writing was what mattered.How many times had I told myself that I loved writing, and that I’d do it no matter what, even if I never got published?
And then the first time I got knocked down—the first time I skinned my knees—look what happened.
“It’s okay to get discouraged,” Fox said.“We all have those days.Or weeks.Or months.Or years.And we all need someone to remind us why we got ourselves into this mess in the first place.”Fox cleared their throat.“I know that I like to tease you, but I hope you’ll take me seriously when I say that I think you’re a remarkable young man.It takes a lot of courage to do what you’ve done—in your writing, but more importantly, in your life.You’re insightful.You’re compassionate.You are generous and clear-eyed and wise, Dash, and those are rare and commendable traits.I hope that when you’re ready, you’ll come back to the page.Because the page will always be waiting for you.”A bit archly, they added, “Even if you do have a tendency to rip off Christie.”
I was getting a bit misty-eyed, so I had to work up some extra outrage when I exclaimed, “Rip off?They’re homages!”
Fox’s grin was surprisingly infectious, and I found myself smiling back at them.
“I’m so mad at myself,” I said, my smile fading.“I know.I know I should get back to work.I know I’m being—I’m being a baby.But it hurts so much.”
Nodding, Fox said, “Perhaps you could try, for a while, being kind to yourself, instead of being angry.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?”I muttered.But I held up my hands in surrender and said, “I’ll try.”
“Which brings me to my next point,” Fox said.
“Oh God, no.”
“With that little comment about not deserving to be loved.”
“No, that was a mistake.That was—” Genius struck.“I was having a stroke!”
Fox’s gaze could best be described aswithering.“I’m going to extend a certain amount of, shall we say,undeservedcredit and assume that you know that your worth as a human being is not contingent on your ability to produce and sell a book.”
“Yes, obviously.Listen, Fox, we don’t have to talk about this.Great pep talk.Very inspirational.You didn’t use the word dunderhead even once, which I appreciate—”
“On the other hand,” Fox said over me, “youarea dunderhead, and it’s my prerogative as your titi to set you straight.”
“Are you my titi?Because I think of you as an older—much older—sibling.Like, you were already in college when I was growing up, so I don’t have to listen to you.”
“How,” Fox said icily, “is that supposed to be better?”
“I honestly don’t know.At this point, it’s the panic talking.”
“Dash, I understand that your relationship with your parents is complicated.And I understand that you have felt a lot of pressure from them, at various times in your life, to be someone else.I understand how that might have affected your view of what it means to be deserving of love.”
“How about some mild teasing?You could talk about my hair again!”
“But if you don’t start doing some work on this, and I mean really doing some work on it, you are going to fudge things up with Bobby.”
(And they didn’t sayfudge.)
“Okay, yes, I know,” I said.“But it’s not that easy!”
“I didn’t say it was easy.In fact, I saidwork.In case this is something you haven’t learned for yourself, let me tell you about the threat of onedayism.Onedayism is the syndrome of believing that someday—one day—your real life will begin.Someday, you’ll be a real adult.Someday, you’ll be a real writer.Someday, you’ll be ready for a real relationship.There’s always some sort of external marker, some form of validation.When I have my first solo show.When I make six figures.When I sell a book.”
I groaned.
“Your life is now,” Fox said.“This is it.This is all any of us has, this moment.There is no future; the future was made up by life insurance salesmen.And you deserve to be loved right now.Love is many things, Dash, but it’s not conditional.It’s not about what you’ve achieved.There’s no checklist.”
The words burst out of me before I could stop them.“But it doesn’t make any sense.I mean, look at Bobby.He’s smart.He’s accomplished.He’s got a great career.He’s so handsome that sometimes I can’t believe he’s talking to me.”
