Ghosting Myself...

Persistence vs. Resilience.

I meant what I said when I wrote it.  Y’know, that “final” Substack posting, in which I said I was pretty much done with posting.

Then several readers implored me “not to give up.”

Those words—“give up”—hit me like a sledge hammer.  Because I recognized that I’ve allowed myself to give up several times, maybe too many times, in my life. I’ve given up on people, places, careers; and a few people have “ghosted” me.  That’s the contemporary term for cutting off someone, or something.  Ghosting.  Not a pleasant feeling if you’re on the receiving end.

I don’t want to turn this post into a psychiatric open-wound; still, there’s value to be had from discussing our current enthusiasm for “ghosting” people, environments and events in all our lives.  Admitting my own participation in pulling the big “g” on others, and myself, comes with the territory.

I have a long, proud history of giving up.  I come from a long tradition of giver-uppers; why not follow in their footsteps.

I walked away from kids’ tackle football when I was about ten years old; that turned out to be a smart thing, since I wasn’t cut out for slamming classmates onto the turf at the sound of “Hike!”  And my brain and limbs are still intact (mostly) because of that decision.

I’ve given up on the Catholic Church, though not on God in general.  Hard to adore a Diety who wants me in hell for eating fish on Fridays or kissing a woman more than six seconds (yep, mortal sin).  My God is around, just on vacation somewhere in Cabo.  He’ll show when the going gets tough.

In grad school, I scored a teaching fellowship at Columbia University, a huge gift that allowed me to continue my doctoral studies.  I gave it up after the first year, claiming the need for a “sabbatical” in Paris.

Hmmm.

That actually turned out to be a pretty good move.  Since I needed a student visa to stay more than three months, I managed to talk my way into the National Conservatory of Dramatic Arts (acting school for the Comedie Française).  Which evolved into a love of theater, acting, a world far from the academic track I’d been slogging through.  Which led to a switch to modern drama, then out of academics and into theater, which led to a successful career working in movies and TV.   

Now that I think about it…some “ghosting” can lead to good results.

More recently?

I’ve given up (mostly) on casting.  After my father passed away in 2006, I lost interest in working on studio films; “XMEN: THE LAST STAND” was my own last stand, after which I chose to only work on independent films.

Casting, as I’ve said in previous posts, has changed in ways that are ultimately unsatisfying, and incompatible with my own work style.  I’ll still do projects with friends and long-time colleagues, but I’m no longer out there hustling to do the next network pilot or Sundance film.

I’m still mulling the consequences, but most of them have been positive; I met my wife and had my first child, a son.  And now, I have time to elevate my own work instead of others’ (which is what casting mostly is).  Being my own taskmaster takes some adjustment; it’s more challenging to carve your own meaning day-to-day, than to have someone—a boss, a client, a time-clock—do it for you.

Then there’s teaching, which is something I’d been doing intermittently through my whole casting career.  I’d created a hybrid acting/casting class, using my background in literature to help actors break down a scene.

Back at Columbia, I’d abandoned teaching, judging it hopeless, even for Ivy-League students.  Now, decades later, I was choosing to give up teaching acting.  My rationale was similar: most actors lacked basic reading and analyzing skills, had no interest in learning them, and were simply in the room to parlay an audition.

I was done with teaching acting.

And then last year, a director and colleague, Alan Jacobs, contacted me.  Alan had himself taken a long sabbatical from the business after his parents passed away and his marriage dissolved.  Like me, he used his decision to evolve his life in a different direction, spending more time with his children and starting JFI, a non-profit organization for Jewish and Arab filmmakers in Israel.   

His professional detour intersected with mine when, in 2022, he offered me a trip to Tel Aviv for a five-day workshop sponsored by JFI; he’d teach writing and directing film, and I’d teach the acting segments.

At first I wasn’t keen on the idea; I’m not a fan of hot weather and Tel Aviv in July is the definition of hot weather.  Eventually, I agreed to go, joined by my wife and son who spent a few nice days on the beach.  We had a great time.  I even think I taught the actors something of value.  And we had a new experience.

So now I’m trying to look at this whole issue from a different perspective, one that takes into account my own tendency to give up.  I love writing. It’s something people say I’m good at.  Do I give it up?  And if so, is that going to lead me to an even better form of expression?

Which reminded me of the difference between persistence and resilience, two words that often get confused with one another.

Persistence, as “endurance, tenacity,” keeps us focused on a goal that we might otherwise abandon.  Persistence implies a certain stubbornness, an inflexibility.

Resilience, on the other hand, is all about flexibility. It’s an ability to adjust to changing circumstances (or our perspective of those circumstances).  It’s not giving up; it’s moving on to the next, better thing, an evolution.

As much as I’ve admired persistence in the past, I’ve come to consider resilience the more rewarding virtue.  It has taken me to a different place at moments when I was banging my head against a door I no longer wanted to open.

Will I be ghosting myself by dropping my Substack posts?  What would be next?  For now, writing’s just as meaningful as any other way to spend part of my day.  And these Substack posts, like nearly all published writing, may be destined for the dustbin of history, or swallowed up by the algorithms of Chat GPT.

We’re all lost in the stars.