For the last three years I have been a Thoreau-like hermit living amongst the Mendocino redwoods in a shack, a one-eyed cat my only companion. There, something slowly shifted in me as I slouched toward Awakening, the dross of artifice sloughing off. I got centered, gained clarity… and my creative juices flowed like a brook.
By DAVID THOMAS
There is, it’s said, a fine line between bravery and stupidity. I’m not sure on which side I fall because, you see, I’ve returned to LA after 20 years away to try and resurrect a once-promising scriptwriting career.
No longer the brash firebrand with a UCLA screenwriting MFA in one hand, cold beer in the other, I’m now firmly ensconced in ear hair-growing, Croc-wearing, Ben Gay-rubbing middle age. Life, as it is wont to do, slapped me around, alchemizing my hubris to humility.
I had script sales and was repped by two of the biggest talent agencies, but my work wasn’t being produced, so in a fit of pique, bile on breath, I blew town, lit out for the territories.
My petulance was not rewarded; self-imposed exile has been ignominious. After running through my script money, I coached budding screenwriters, played poker, worked on a horse ranch, dabbled in journalism, wrote an unsold novel, directed a couple small documentaries, facilitated whale-watching tours, traded crypto, hiked the Pacific Crest trail, lived on a small sailboat, took too many dumb chances to count, self-flagellated, went down pointless paths and blind alleys … all in pursuit of Experience. I even tried (gulp) Florida.
By most metrics my dharma bum life has been a bust; less charitably, I could even be called a goddamn dunce.
But… maybe not. I never simped for lucre, knuckling under to a soul-wilting job. I may have been desperate at times, but never quietly. I aligned with Nietzsche’s bent: “The secret to harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment,” he wrote, “is: to live dangerously!”
I allowed raw intuition to be my guide even when it took me to crazy places. My quixotic path has led me — at the risk of sounding woo-woo — to my true self.
For the last three years I have been a Thoreau-like hermit living amongst the Mendocino redwoods in a shack, a one-eyed cat my only companion. There, something slowly shifted in me as I slouched toward Awakening, the dross of artifice sloughing off. I got centered, gained clarity… and my creative juices flowed like a brook.
Between chopping wood, foraging and listening to birdsongs, I went on a writing jag, torrents of words rushing out, ideas peppering me like hail.
Now I have returned to LA with a satchel of viable projects, both film and television. My work has become more fulsome, nuanced, deeper…. better. Though versatile, I still tend toward off-beat comedies. “The Big Lebowski” remains my favorite movie.
Vagabond life may have burnished my talent, but has done nothing to thicken my wallet. I’m a modern-day Diogenes.
That progenitor of Stoicism by day strolled Athens streets naked, pointing out hypocrisy, and at night slept in a big clay wine pot. He relied on the kindness of strangers for food and eschewed all possessions.
I am generally clothed, but live in a tiny Spartan apartment, subsist mainly on fruit and humble pie, and drive a clunker.
I don’t crave the Bel-Air manse, Saks account, or on-call Lear. All I want, all I’ve ever really wanted, is creative adventures. I want to play in the sandbox with others of like mind and make compelling stories for lots of people to watch.
Of course I realize the Hollywood gatekeepers prefer an apple-cheeked wunderkind fresh out of Choate to a Gen X seeker with a spotty past. But I don’t care.
The past two decades of wandering and wondering have left me bulletproof. They can’t throw anything at me more challenging than being penniless in a leaky trailer, or friendless in the forest.
So, am I brave or stupid to return to the City of Angels, my dormant showbiz dreams again gurgling to the surface?
I choose to believe what nineteenth century novelist George Eliot wrote: “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”
I am back.
DAVID THOMAS can be reached at DJThomas22@proton.me
