Words From David
October 2004
It's autumn in San Francisco and, oddly enough, it feels like autumn.like a New York autumn. Brings back a wave of memories from my childhood in New Jersey all the way up to more recent memories of Central Park two years ago. I miss that cold, crisp, edgy-yet comforting-smell.
This year, actually all of 2003, up to this writing in October 2004 has been one of loss for me on so many different levels. friends, family members, patients, a lover, and co-workers. No, they didn't all die, thankfully; but three did. Death though, as far as we know, ends all chances to speak again, to communicate, or to say that last word or words you wished you'd said whenever. Death, for those of us left behind, is final. And there is a comfort in that finality, a comfort in knowing there is nothing you can do but grieve, cherish, let go, move on, and-perhaps-choose to remember. You can't go back and fix it or alter it even slightly.
Some of those I've lost are still alive. Relationships that ended, family battles I will no longer entertain, members of my innermost circle have moved away from San Francisco to Los Angeles and to New York, coworkers, collaborators, friends, colleagues. gone; and just as I can not speak to the dead, so can I not speak to the living when we are figuratively speaking two different languages and neither one wishes to understand the other. Sad. It's like death only with out the excuse of death. To me, the former stings more.
Of course, these losses may not be final. There is always hope. But hope, to me, has become something I approach with care, like the snoozing Copperheads I encounter on my morning hikes. They might raise their handsome diamond shaped heads and smile at me. Or they may strike. Hope, huh?
Hope. It rhymes with soap. It can make you feel all clean and fresh or you can slip on it unawares and fall flat on your ass.
Can I come up with another self indulgently cryptic metaphor for Hope? Probably, but I'll spare you.
My personal San Francisco had become a lonely place, one where I can hear echoes everywhere. I thought this stuff only happened when you got old. I see ghosts of old friends either long gone, or long dead, and reflect on happier, more carefree times. I feel every one of my thirty-one years walking up Market Street at dusk. If I look up I can watch the fog roll in like a huge down comforter over Twin Peaks and I smile. This is one thing about this city that will always make me smile. That fog over Twin Peaks.
And there are so many other things that draw that smile out: the sound of Chris Dilley singing in our apartment, the smell of Nabeel's cooking, our living room, which I spent the summer redecorating (it is finally the oasis I envisioned), Sophia and Nick waving from behind the counter next door at Ristorante Capri, Jeff and Ruth's wickedly off-color humor, the brilliant acting on Six Feet Under, watching the plants in my garden thrive, changing my little nephew Max and kissing his tiny feet, singing on Saturday afternoons with Greg, and my patients at the clinic who have a lifetime of shit to keep them down, yet they somehow get up everyday to talk with me.
So much to be grateful for, the approaching Thanksgiving not withstanding.
Professionally things are rolling right along but, of course, never as swiftly as this perfectionist wants. My second novel "Still Life" (visit the Novels section and read an excerpt) is coming along and I continue to pound on the doors of agents and publishers with the goal of getting my first novel "Under the Boardwalk" published. The consensus so far can be summed up in a quote (which I found inspiring) from a rather well known New York publisher who will remain nameless, "You're talent is refreshing and your style very engaging. I loved the story, but it would be a difficult commercial sale for us." So, the book is good, just not commercial. That I knew going in, but it was nice to have it confirmed.
Hey, that guy called me talented!
Most of the other feedback has been similar, with the exception of the agent who cried on the telephone to me, telling me how much the book moved her, but that she just didn't see it as commercially viable. Ah well. I'll leave commercial to John Grisham and keep pounding away.
I have decided that "Under The Boardwalk" will be published even if I have to make copies at Kinko's and sell them on street corners myself.
I posed for quite a few awesome photographers this year and even put on a dress after many years of drag retirement, taking to the stage to raise money for California Marriage Equality. You can check out the pictures in the Modeling and Theater section. It was an amazing night and I sang three songs alongside some of San Francisco's greatest singing talents. The old saying is true, once you learn how to walk in heels you never forget. By now, I can probably play football in them. Problem is, I don't know how to play football.
I passed the written exam for my California LCSW/therapist license which was a big accomplishment after five months of study. Most, if not all, of my colleagues are passing too, which makes me very happy. Next on the agenda is the oral exam and then it will be time for me to decide exactly where I want to open my private practice and on which demographic I wish to focus. I've actually got the demographic part figured out, but I'll leave you with a bit of suspense.
So, life is good. Two my short stories will be anthologized this Spring, and my greeting card and postcard line will have its kickoff in early 2005. Just think. me on postcards and greeting cards. WHY did this not occur to me before?
Despite the echoes, which are strangely comforting at times, I find little to complain about and much to rejoice in.
Blessed Autumn and holiday season all,
Peace,
David