I arrived at work the other day and started chatting with a couple of co-workers who are around my same age. As we bantered back and forth over Oscar predictions, dating and the weather, one of them asked me if I was sick. At first, I was kind of confused, but then I realized that my voice did sound a little strained and possibly congested.
I took a quick mental scan… was I getting sick? My stomach is fine, my head is fine, no symptoms. I mean, I guess I was a little tired… Hmm… I wonder why I’m tired this morning… Oh. Right…
“I was in acting class last night after work until about midnight. Oh… and we were working on a scene in which I played a woman who just lost her brother in the war, so it was… um… kind of emotional.”
They both just stared at me.
I know, ladies. I’m crazy. I’m an actor and that’s what we do. When you leave the office, you probably go home and open a bottle of wine, sit back and watch an episode or two of Glee.
But me? I’m madly dashing to a little studio with a couple of lights and bearing my soul in front of a camera. I’m living a moment that no one should have to face, yet thousands do. I’m believing that the person sitting in the room is really handing me a letter from my dead brother. The letter he wrote just in case the next mission was his last. I look down at what’s really his handwriting spelling my name on the paper. My heart is filling with so much pain and anger that I can’t keep the tears from falling, no matter how hard I try. It's an experience so real, it lingers in my voice the next day.
Ladies, while you’re watching season three of The Unit… I’m actually living it.
And it’s fucking amazing.