Fill Your Lungs With Oxygen

Old friend,

It’s been a month since I last wrote to you.

Quite a lot has happened since then.

Shortly after Labor Day we traveled to Chicago for my nephew’s wedding. The service took place in the woods on the bride’s family’s farm and the reception took place in a huge barn that they transformed into a truly magical space.

Shortly before the service I was talking to a couple of Grant’s cousins on his dad’s side. They asked about the strike and told me how much they supported the writers and I actually started CRYING. Like, out of nowhere, I choked up and couldn’t speak.

I can hear you now, “They probably thought it was sweet.”

No, no. They were disturbed.

In college acting class our teacher Diane told us that an actor needed to keep their emotional life bubbling just under the surface, ready to be called on in a moment’s notice. What surprised me in that moment was how much I compartmentalized the emotions of the past five months. Whenever you asked how I was holding up I told you I was fine, that I was fortunate, all things considered. But out in the woods, surrounded by friends and family, those deeper emotions boiled up and over.

There were a couple of other moments that weekend that reminded me how we often can’t help but be exactly who we are in settings buzzing with heightened emotions, like weddings and funerals and reunions. That must be why they’re so ripe for dramatization. We’re all grappling with our interiority and those places force a reckoning, with ourselves and other people.

I remember we were talking, I think it was at French Roast sometime after midnight, and you said, “At some point the truth comes crashing in on tides of inner oceans.” That got us talking about hard times, how if you fight the tide you get sucked under. But if you fill your lungs with oxygen you just might ride the wave to safer ground.

That’s how I made it through these past five months. Filling my lungs with oxygen. The breath of life. Friends, family, my dog, nature, art, cooking, creativity. I just kept inhaling and holding on to them like they were a life preserver and they were.

And again, I had it easier than most.

Although, the last couple of weeks were pretty rough. A few days after I got back from the wedding I tested positive for Covid for a second time. I know! A departure gift from Spirit Airlines. I couldn’t go to the picket line, Julie was out of town. It was just me and Ellie and a revolving door of DoorDash and InstaCart delivery folks who I never saw because they had instructions to leave the bags outside the door.

At that point, five months into the strike, being away from the picket line for more than a couple of weeks, I felt strangely disconnected from all of it. From the business, from the career that I had built. The whole thing seemed like a party I was no longer invited to. At a certain point I stopped caring if I ever got it back.

Don’t get me wrong, I was still in the fight with my fellow writers, but it felt like I wasn’t fighting for my own future anymore. That my time had passed and I was out there for the people who had yet to join. And I wasn’t even sad about that. I think that was a strange side effect of talking about how shitty things have been for writers the past few years, and seeing how the studios had so little respect for what we do that they took over a hundred days to present a counteroffer. Was I really so excited to get back into business with those people? And vice versa?

That feeling of being on the outside combined with the isolation from Covid fueled me through the second draft of the novel. I got some very helpful feedback from one of our smart and empathetic friends. As much cheering on as constructive criticism. I alternated between fits of joy and spite through the next draft. But mostly joy.

Oxygen.

There’s actually a little movement on the book front, by the way. I sent it to my reps and they’re on the case, helping me plan the next steps. For the past few years I’ve been seeking another avenue to tell stories, trying to find an end run around the problem of the IP arms race. Ten years ago I hit an impossible shot with EXTANT. I got through the door. I feel greedy hoping for a similar breakthrough in a new medium, but I’m just gonna be honest with you. I. am. fucking. greedy. for. this.

I tested negative again on Thursday and went down to join Julie in Orange County for her last weekend of LES MIZ. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to see it recently, but it was so inspiring. I couldn’t help but think about Aristotle’s idea of “pity, fear, and catharsis,” and efficiently the show takes you through that cycle, over and over, leaving you exhausted by the end.

In the opening sequence Jean Valjean is doing hard labor on a prison work crew. We learn that he was originally sent there because he stole a loaf of bread for a starving relative, then added years because he tried to escape. Nineteen years total, in living hell, for trying to save a kid. (Pity)

He gets his “yellow ticket” of leave, which forever marks him as a criminal. No matter where he goes he’s treated like garbage (Pity), until finally a kindly priest takes him in and offers him food and shelter. Valjean repays the priest by stealing from him, is promptly caught, then lies to the fuzz, telling them the priest gave him all the stuff, actually. The police bring him back to the priest to get out the truth. (Fear) Instead of ratting him out the priest says, “Not only is he telling the truth I also gave him these silver candlesticks.” (Catharsis)

All of that happens in the first ten minutes, leading Jean Valjean to a crossroads at the end of his first big number. He can keep going with his yellow ticket of leave, branded a thief and treated like an animal for the rest of his life, or… he can leave that world behind and devote the rest of his life to paying the priest’s kindness forward.

At the end of the number he sings, “I’ll escape now from that world, from the world of Jean Valjean, Jean Valjean is nothing now… another story must begin!” He rips up the yellow ticket and throws it in the air, the big orchestral fanfare kicks in, and the title of the show appears, end prologue.

All of that happens in the first ten minutes!

Oxygen.

Sunday night I had the car packed up in the hotel parking lot. Ellie and I were waiting for Julie to get out of the show, then we were going to drive straight back to La Crescenta. My phone started blowing up with texts from writer friends. “Let’s go,” and, “A Yom Kippur miracle!” A deal had been reached. The strike was ending.

I got so caught up messaging friends and scrolling through stories on Instagram that I forgot I’d turned the car key just enough to roll the windows down. An hour later, when Julie got back, I tried to start the car but the battery was dead.

Which felt like a metaphor, honestly.

After the AAA guy got us on the road it started to sink in. I’m so proud to be part of this union. I’m so proud of the negotiating committee and all of the people who supported the fight. It’s been a long five months but I’m thrilled about the deal, and yes, I absolutely can’t wait to get back to work.

But we’re not over the finish line yet.

It’s all just ink and paper until the actors are back on set, breathing life into the words.

There’s also this part of me that wants to grab every last little detail that I can from these past five months in a little mental Polaroid so I don’t forget. I don’t want to forget our collective power. I don’t want to forget the kindness that we showed to one another. I don’t want to forget all of the times people reached out with words of support and offers to send us money. I don’t want to forget the new friends I made on the line. Solidarity, camaraderie.

Oxygen.

I want to tell you that, after these five months, I’m more convinced than ever that we need to be Swiss Army knives. I have friends working on podcasts, comics, and graphic novels, I have friends who are also working on novels, so many people are writing newsletters, others are creating their own shows on YouTube. I think all of it is not just helpful but necessary for long-term survival. It’s not a question of “if” the business will change again, but “when.”

I do hope you’ll drop a line to tell me how you’re faring. I can’t remember if you told me you started that new project, or if you were having trouble getting it going. It’s understandable if you were having trouble. I hope you’re being easy on yourself. Unless you need a good kick in the ass, in which case I hope you’ve done your stretches and that your foot can reach. I can’t do it. I don’t do tough love, only love.

If you need a little inspiration I hope you can find your way to some nature. I know, I know, I preach this gospel all the time, but I actually read an article this week where a bunch of neuroscientists talked about how being in nature makes you smarter. One study found that just looking at pictures of nature improved connectivity between different parts of the brain.

One section of the article blew my mind with an idea that I’d never heard of, called Attention Restoration Theory. The basic idea is that,

“The outdoors allows the overtaxed prefrontal cortex to rest and replenish. Attention Restoration Theory says that nature inherently brings us to a state of “soft fascination”: We find natural settings interesting and pleasurable, but they don’t require a lot of mental effort. “We think nature puts your brain into a rest state, that allows you to rejuvenate your attention resources and get back to work again,” says Berman.

There’s also a concept called perceptual fluency. “The idea is that elements of the natural environment tend to be easy for our visual system to process,” Duvall explains. “One explanation is that natural features have fractal patterns, or repeating patterns at different scales,” like snowflakes or tree branches. “From an information-processing perspective, the brain has an easier time making sense of what’s going on. That may explain why people feel more refreshed after those experiences—the cognitive load is lessened in natural environments.”

Of course, as soon as I read that I started planning a weekend drive up to Crystal Lake with Julie and Ellie, our first time. It’s a beautiful spot. If you can’t make it up there you can look at this picture and according to the neuroscientists, your brain is getting smarter:

If you can, I recommend stopping at the General Store for a hot dog. Take a hike down to the lake. It’s been awhile since we shared some music back and forth but I’ve been loving these songs lately. Put em on your playlist for the drive up.

Jensen McRae, "Colma, Ca"

The Cadillac Three, "Young and Hungry"

Zach Bryan, feat. Bon Iver, "Boys of Faith"

Theater. Nature. Music. Friendship. Camaraderie. Solidarity. Loved ones. Pets.

Fill your lungs now.

We’re starting the next stage of our journey.

I’ll write more soon.

Your friend,

M