I had dinner with an old friend the other night. Charming. Lovely. Nostalgic. She cross-examined me about why I hadn't continued writing plays. Or writing anything. I proudly discussed my blog, this blog, with her ... and encouraged her to log on when she felt like reading some of my musings. Our evening ended with a sudden and somewhat hostile disagreement about the value of looking back into the past ... of not "moving on", as she put it. And as she dropped me home, I wondered what she would make of theartofdistraction.
It didn't take long for me to find out.
The next day, she called me on my mobile and told me she thought my blog was probably the primary reason why I hadn't "moved on", as she put it. She was greatly concerned that I was about to embark on another toxic regurgitation of people, places and experiences that were, collectively, hardly worth the time.
"What did you learn from these revolting experiences?" she challenged.
"To never consider anything like them again", I replied.
"You said it yourself last night," she snapped ... "Gay is so fucking OVER that it's hardly even worth mentioning! And as I've said time and time again Geoffrey, you're too fucking NICE all the time and yet you're obsessed with making some kind of meaningful contribution to some fucking imaginary Gay Community that simply don't deserve it darling!"
I was speechless.
"Did you do the Sydney Film Festival last year? I thought it was 2006!?" she wondered.
"It ... yes, it was 2006," I confirmed.
"SO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WASTING YOUR TIME WRITING ABOUT SOME FUCKING NIGHTMARE FROM ALMOST THREE YEARS AGO!?" she bawled into the phone. "Get over it darling! MOVE ON!"
Great advice ... possibly one of the most sensible things anyone has said to me in the past twelve months.
Liberating. Forgiving. Wiser. Determined. Looking toward tomorrow.