I’m having this weird sensation lately, like I can’t figure out if I *actually* care what is going on, or if I’m just *acting* like I care what is going on. I don’t know how much it would change my work, between the two, and maybe it’s a combination of both at most times. Right now there is a political battle in my county, and I’m in the middle of it- both me as a figure as well as my organization- and this county is so back-assward when it comes to arts that I almost have to NOT care if I’m going to get through it. Every time I have to speak to politicos, or funders, or anyone else who has an axe to grind or a claim to stake, I have to sort of distance myself or I’ll feel as though I’m the grinder or the ground.

I can’t believe, I honestly can’t believe, that there is no public funding for the arts in my county. I can’t believe, sometimes, that I eek out a living in a sector that is wholly unsupported by any governmental infrastructure. And I’m trying to do it in a state that is an embarrassment of riches and a stupefying posity of support for that which makes life richer, stronger, better. California, the fifth largest economy in the world, spends 3 cents per person on the arts. France, the sixth largest economy spends $56 per person. California is LAST IN THE NATION when it comes to arts spending. How can this not be, at the very least, terribly embarassing?

And here’s the thing: I’m about ready to give up the fight. Not tomorrow, not next month, but of all the battles in the world that I want to fight, do I want to sweat bullets because I have to go alone to a governmental meeting next Tuesday where I’ll be surrounded by haters, to lobby for a measley portion of public funds for the arts? I certainly have plenty of conviction when it comes to this particular battle, and I’m ready to rally the troops and raise the defenses but if this one fails… well. I don’t really believe it will, but I’m staring up a long, slick mountain- hardly any crags to hold onto when I’m trying to climb- and I once again am questioning the worth of the trip.

Enough metaphor. It’s just that I wonder how many people actually care if the arts sector is strong in this county. If only I knew that I was fighting for this because many, many people care deeply about it, I’d have more juice left. I just don’t know. In a way, I fight it for the kids who don’t know what they are missing when they don’t have arts in their schools. I’m fighting for the 47% of the population that have something like 1% representation at the governmental level and no real representation of their own cultural heritage in this town. And I’m fighting because if I didn’t put pencil to paper and bow to string and tap shoes to wood when I was a kid, I don’t know what the hell I’d be doing with my life.

Still, though, christ, people, get with the program. This stuff MATTERS. It’s not fluff, it’s not excess, it is priority.

*yeesh*

There is something about this season that throws everything into stark relief: the good fortune of friends & family & toys & warmth, as well as clarity around singularity. I always spend a lot of time back east this time of year, and I have what feels like a reasonably full life back there, because my family is so present and so huge to me. I’m having a difficult time, thinking about what exactly I want; or rather, I’m having a difficult time because, as always, I want so many things and I’m not sure how to focus or how ultimately I will choose.

I’m also feeling a great deal of frustration & anger about how crappy my education was, and I suppose it’s frustration I should have felt long ago but it’s only coming up now. Of course, in many ways, I’m incredibly grateful for everything that led up to this very moment, but there are deep, black, dark holes in my chest and I’ve realized it doesn’t do me any good to pretend they aren’t there or that they are comparatively unimportant. It’s only me, after all, it’s all I’ve got, and if I don’t take care of me I can’t do anything I want to do in this world.

Sean was talking the other evening about the story of the birth of Christ. You’ll never meet a non-religious person who loves that story as much as he does. He said it was the inherent possibility in every birth that gets him- that every child born could be a child who changes the world. I feel like, had I had anything resembling a decent education or, christ, I don’t know, a feeling any time I was young that I had *options*, I could have been that child. I don’t really care how this sounds. I want to change the world, I want to already *have changed* the world and as I’ve said a thousand times before, I want a life that takes my focus OFF of my own navel. But left to my own devices, it seems I buy expensive sweaters and turn on the television and forget, all too often, that I’m actually supposed to be doing something. Maybe it’s my determination to be alone these last many years that seems to be in vain. Like, I’ve sacrificed, but what for. I call it “career” because I can’t name what it is I really want to be doing.

But I feel this strange sense of miracle just around the corner. Nothing to do with me, but with something of which maybe I’ll get to be a part. It might be Barnaby, it might be something else, but I have this sense that something unexpected is brewing in the cold and that if I stay awake, I might get to see it, or experience it. I had this feeling about six years ago, and it was spot on, although it took years for me to truly recognize what it was.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m terribly jet-lagged and feel like I have feet in two different worlds right now. Maybe, though, maybe Sean’s right, and this time of year the cold air thins the barriers and something truly unexpected could happen.