Vacations
Attentive readers of my previous post may have picked up on it, but last month we did something that we haven't done in several years - we went on a vacation.
It was a glorious trip, not without its hiccups, but well worth the long period of saving and preparing (ours is not a get-up-and-go lifestyle). We were in need of a break, and we got it.
And as is usually the case whenever I'm away from home the creative energy, and the time to indulge it, seem to come forth, and I found myself filling more than a couple of notebooks with material. There are some short plays that, admittedly, still need some work (Vampire Cowgirls, anyone?) and some ideas for longer works that coalesced on the waves into some concrete plans, some of which I've subsequently started on since coming home. Not everything I wrote will end up as a finished play - I know that, and I would be surprised if there's another gem hiding in the rough notes, but still I'm very happy with what I was able to accomplish while I was on vacation.
So now the task becomes one of perseverance - how do I sustain the creativity, good vibes, and sense of self that I found walking through the ancient theatres of Epidaurus, Rhodes, Ephesus, and Athens? How do I channel the Lion's Gate of Mycenae, the Cable Car whisking us through the clouds to the peak of Mount Olympos (not Olympus), or the ruins of the Temple of Athena into writing that is another gem?
What do I do with the human memories: the German couple we shared a table with for an authentic Greek lunch, the couple from Brighton, the one place in the world that has produced not one but two of my plays, the friendly staff at the restaurant where we had hot coffee and warm baklava on a stubbornly cold and windy day? And what is with all the cats?
And of course I'm not one to forget the not-so-great memories either (I told you there were hiccups). From missing Cyprus - the whole reason we booked that particular trip in the first place - due to bad weather, to being unable to extricate ourselves from a bunch of very persistent rug sellers, to the sketchy guy moving among the crowd waiting for a bus that we were pretty sure was out to steal something, all those memories are burned into my brain as well.
Something that will forever live rent-free in my head happened in a nondescript Greek port called Katakolon. For a good ten minutes we looked overhead as a series of fighter jets of various types and in various numbers flew low, heading east. I assume they were from the USS Gerald Ford, which we never saw but that we knew we shared a sea with. I assume they were headed for Iran.
As a dramatist, there was something handed to me in that moment, something powerful. Now I have an obligation to use it wisely, or if I can't, to not use it foolishly, or in the service of something false. One day I will write something based on that moment, or at least inspired by it. To do otherwise would be an injustice to whomever was in those jets, and to whomever they flew over when they carried out their mission.
That is the world we live (and vacation) in now - stunning beauty and breath-taking horror, side by side, both pulling on my creative strings in equal measure, demanding that I rise to the occasion. The coming months will show whether I am equal to the task, or not.
Best. Vacation. Ever?
Comments