ALMOST LISA : Pt 6, “Almost Peachy”
ALMOST LISA : Pt 6, “Almost Peachy”
“If
you are uncertain which way to go, find what is the easiest. Then run
in the opposite direction. “
As I write from my
perch, numbing my brain with an americano and gluten free pastry
(*sigh), I still can’t quite accept that I no longer live in LA.
It’s been 14 months and I’m suddenly uncertain about my decision.
It could be the difficulty I’ve had finding clean, organic food (a
must for me). It’s likely that the south side of Atlanta has little
to offer a world-traveling multifaceted free-thinking single artist
woman like me (i.e. I'm bored). A huge part of it is that I’ve
been suddenly unemployed for months which makes having nothing
to do that much more unnerving.
There were no guarantees I’d be able to migrate into a new town and get right to work in my industry. But I did! I was relieved and thrilled to stay busy and earning. Where acting roles were smaller and less fulfilling (I'm learning that many roles are still cast from NYC and LA, or they go to “name talent”), stunt work in GA was challenging in new ways. Back in LA I frequented TV series, working a day two at a time on each gig. There were also commercials (though a dying opportunity which paid less and less under poor contracts and buyouts where residuals once were), and the many video games I collaborated on with companies like Treyarch and Activision over the years. Georgia was predominantly film. BIG film.
Like Los Angeles, things are spread out here. Unlike LA, traffic moves. An hour driving is an actual hour of driving, not time stuck in traffic. Among my first local gigs booked was six+ week run up on the North side of Atlanta on arguably one of the biggest and most highly anticipated Marvel films to date. Higher stakes = Greater expectations. It felt validating to be a part of a team, working toward excellence together. It gave me the false impression that I was going to be okay here. And, for 8 months, I was! Work was plentiful, local casting directors were sending regular auditions, I even purchased my first home in the middle of a major housing crisis (seriously, how does everyone have $100′s of thousands in cash to buy houses with!!). Not something I wanted to do, but seemingly a good idea given the amount of work in the pipeline for the State over the next few years, the new and the new expansion of film studios in the area... and the fact that this was a one-way ticket. I wouldn't be able to return to Los Angeles. I couldn't afford to. So using my unlimited artistic skills, I did what I could to make the home I didn’t want or love a beautiful sanctuary, filled with my own Creations.
In April, 2022. Just after wrap on a gig, my Mother and Father came to town to visit and stay in my house. While my mother visited California to see her cousin every year and therefore saw me about that often, my father couldn't handle long plane rides and never- in 18 years- visited me in any of the many apartments I lived in Los Angeles (thus, he never witnessed nor learned about my life there, my choices, my work, etc). This would be the first time my Dad- the Architect- would see my interior choices, my new art and photography, the town I lived in, etc. Up until then, we spoke every couple of weeks or so on the weekends together about the weather, the Browns, anything and everything vague. But never about my health.
My father doesn't like to hear or
talk about anything negative. Mom will listen, but ultimately feels
powerless so does nothing. I’d been trying for years to get them
both involved in any of the nightmare I’ve endured (maybe help
research, followup calls, search for answers) but they remained
consistently non-participatory. So I had to go it alone in my health
struggles, sitting in waiting rooms before an exam, hospital stays,
listening to others chatting together or on the phone saying “I
love you” to someone who cared about their wellness, or calling
someone for a ride home. I didn't have anyone. My example of Love
growing up was- again- less than ideal. But I believed that when you
love someone, their wellness becomes your happiness and you choose to
get involved. My family had their own version. Thus, I have always
had difficulty writing my living will. Who would be responsible
on my behalf? They couldn't respect me or love me while I'm here (and
really, barely knew me), would they respect my wishes when I’m
gone? Every time I have a procedure or wind up hospitalized, I am
again asked about these “plans”.
Five days with the parents at Casa Lisa, visiting art museums and gardens, having meals together, watching movies on TV. Acting like everything was perfectly normal with the occasional tolerance of their bickering with one another (normal). No personal questions. No asking about friends or if I was dating anyone. Never did. I played host and was happy to see them, but I wasn’t feeling great. I’d been in and out of the urgent care and hospital a bit since relocating, trying to build my team of healthcare specialists and “fix shit”. They weren't helping me yet, but all were good at ordering expensive tests and labs. On the third day, at 4am, I woke my dad up to drive with me to the hospital. No ignoring things now.
Whole lotta waiting in an ER
room. My dad sat and chatted at me, watching me pace back and forth,
breathing heavy, setting off my heart monitor every 15 minutes. He
understood I was in pain. I explained this was what I’d been
dealing with. He stayed calm and collected, worried. Back at the
house, he and my mom entertained a brief conversation with me and
allowed me to explain what I felt at this late in the game they'd
understand. Both made promises to look into things and “make calls”
when they got home to Cleveland. And the end of the week, I dropped
them at the airport. Weeks went by. We returned to our usual BS
weekend conversations. neither made any effort toward finding answers
for me. I gave up they ever would.
“I've
come to find the greatest, most loving & enlightened #souls are
the ones who've endured the greatest, most profound darkness.”
The onset of two months of Christmas Music has begun. A constant reminder of how much I miss my grandparents and childhood traditions. An even bigger reminder (while surrounded by families sharing time together around me) that I have no one. No wonder I dislike the Holidays. They lack meaning and purpose. Had I known I’d stop working a long while after my parents visit, I would have planned another trip somewhere. My time isn't promised and I have so much on my bucket list. I'd began my own tradition of traveling over the Christmas and New Years holiday and would much rather be seeing the world, learning, and staying creative (my photography) than forced to visit people I'm barely connected to in a home which brought so much pain and disappointment in my youth.
Over the years I'd visited Paris, Amalfi, Rome, Thailand, Cambodia, Madrid and Barcelona, Lisbon... generally covering at least two countries in one trip. That expansion of consciousness speaks deeply to me. And I cherished these hard-earned opportunities right up until the 2020 pandemic. Now that the worst seems to have passed, I'm afraid to be out of town, spending money I'm not sure I can afford, while having been unemployed for so long, yet again. As a single, independent woman, I am always looking 10 steps and sometimes 10 years ahead. I have to. It’s painful watching days breeze by, still unemployed and lonesome, not challenged, not growing much, feeling like time is being wasted. There’s nothing I value more than my Time. And there really wasn’t much on my plate coming up. Nothing to look forward to. Except for...
(to be continued...)
*I retain all rights to my story, likeness, biographical information, quotes, poetry, photography, photos, fashion designs, art work, and all of my own creation represented herewithin*
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