Life at the Improv

Crazy to think that a week ago, I was resting my head in a room 15 steps from Lake Flower in Saranac Lake, N.Y. The job interview went well. I just didn’t get the job. Yes, it was a job I really wanted. Yes, it was in a place I really would’ve liked to live. I’m disappointed; life goes on, though. It was a great (albeit expensive) experience and I’m glad I had it. I just don’t like being back at Square One of Operation Findajob.

It is, however, a jungle out there, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I want to be a passenger on this safari. I’ve had a few hours of private brainstorming sessions: Hey, I tell myself, you’ve hardly ever done anything by the book. Why start now? And it’s a great thought, let me tell ya. A way to make money on my own and not need to jump through all these corporate hoops to even have a chance at working? Sign me up! The time is right, right? Hell, I’m already thousands of dollars in debt; why not risk a few more?

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Weird times call for weird measures. I’ve got an idea, and maybe it’s worth persuing. Maybe. I need some more time to flesh it out. When I acted in high school, the director always told us to improvise if we drew a blank or had an onstage brainfart. I don’t see why this same philosophy can’t be applied to life. I’m having a quarter-life brainfart (crisis is way too strong a word). Perhaps I should improvise.