Facts and Fiction - What it's like to live in L.A.

Brendan (that's me, but I'm a character in my own stroy) knows he spends too much time on nonsense. He has a strong sense of what's unproductive, and useless. The problem is, he doesn't have a strong sense of what's productive and useful.

Most days, Brendan knows enough to play with his kid when he can. But on those same days, he often also feels disheartened, tired, like, though the outcome is worth the effort, he still can't put the effort in. And so his kid happily munches on chocolate and watches TV.

Brendan knows that research says it's okay for kids to watch TV. That all the old studies correlating TV-watching with academic struggles were actually correlating poverty with academic struggles. He reassures himself with the knowledge that these studies exist, but still, he feels guilty, tired, and sad.

He's not always sad, certainly. On many days, only some of the time is he sad. He's always tired, though. He's happy when his kid laughs and asks for tickles. And when his kid suggests they all spin around and do "helicopter". He remembers being surprised and disappointed as a kid when his own dad seemed too tired to do even leisurely playing, but now he gets it. And this makes him sadder. He wants to be vibrant and alive for his kid... and for himself.

On most days, he knows that playing games on the computer is useless and unproductive. A tiny part of him says, "no, you're training your brain!" But he's pretty sure there are more efficient ways to train your brain, if that's even true. And another part of him says, "maybe you'll become a professional..." but, while that would be fun if it came easily, he knows it would not come easily... or at least it would not come without dedicating even more hours to it, and this, he is unwilling to do. Also, even now, he knows he is fooling himself.

On some days, he writes. But those days are fewer and further between. He can no longer remember if there's any reason to write. Certainly, he thinks, one can improve. But, he thinks more deeply, not without feedback and a willingness to work harder and hear the critical comments of mentors.

He has no mentors.

He thinks, every day, about what he could do to make his career as an actor more viable. But, for each idea, he also thinks that it won't work, and will be far too much trouble. He has lost his beginner's mind. He knows he needs it, so that he can keep trying things and failing at them until he succeeds, but he is so tired. He also feels poor, and some of the ideas cost money, and have been part of his life before, and look at where he is now, anyways.

He thinks sometimes that he should learn a new salable skill, so that even if he isn't fulfilled in his career, perhaps he can make a better living. But these thoughts make him even sadder. He loves acting. He wants to be good at that.

He's also baffled so much of them time. People tell him they think he is good at acting. No one tells him he is not. But the evidence seems to suggest that he is not. If he were, wouldn't he have more acting jobs?

But all that is lost in the idea that perhaps there's something else missing.

Or maybe he's not actually very good.

He really doesn't know anymore. He used to. But he doesn't.

He's glad that he can walk outdoors with his child and his wife. He's glad that sunsets and palm trees and hummingbirds exist.

He's glad for the subway and the places it takes him. He's glad for a safe home and medical care.

He's glad that he can see things he could do. He's sad that he feels unmotivated to do them. He's glad he has some obligations, like reading in elementary schools, and, of course, taking care of his kid, and helping manage the community garden, and performing comedy for families, that keep him useful to the world.

His days just need to change. They can. This one did.