Bigness

"In the last resort, what we want to know is not, what would this man or that man, or this or that Church, have of us, but what Jesus Christ himself wants of us.... We have a strange feeling that if Jesus himself--Jesus alone with his Word--could come into our midst at sermon time, we should find quite a different set of men hearing the Word, and quite a different set rejecting it."

-- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his Introduction to The Cost of Discipleship

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Today's a big day.

Just before I leave the office, I will lay envelopes on the desks of the Executive Producer and the Artistic Director. In these envelopes will be two letters, neatly folded and cleanly written, which announce my intent to leave my job in a few months.

They wanted to know several months in advance, so I'm letting them know now. Most organizations would only want two weeks to four. This one needs over four months.

It's all for the best. Deadlines force decisions; and decisions, decisiveness. Without such an ultimatum, I may well have shied away from making my plans until well into the summer, when it would have been too late--or too painful--to make such an announcement.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

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And today comes after a great high: escorting my co-worker Jen S. to home plate in the Great American Ballpark, where she sang the National Anthem for the Cincinnati Reds' Opening Night game. (St. Louis won 6-3 and I was very happy.)

We got Reds-themed "fleecies" (they are legally not allowed to call them "Snuggies") for being among the first 21,000 fans to show up. I found I felt more comfortable walking around in it if I wore it backwards, with the opening in front. It felt more like a cloak, less like a curtain.

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So the week has been a big one, too: Parade, board lunch w/ staff, Reds Opening Night, and today, Letter Day.

Growing up, I heard church folk talk a lot about "red-letter days." The idea was to live daily according to the words of Christ, which of course are widely printed in red. As a friend from high school recently pointed out, much of what Christ said (specifically in Matthew 18) is tough biscuits.

In accounting, to be "in the red" means to be in debt. I think that's a good way to think about it, too.

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Until the end of August, I'll still have this desk and the retro file trays and the guitar propped against the painting (neither of which are mine) and the cubicle and the blank Rolodex and workshops and classes and students and experiences and people to call and emails to read and things to do and money to save. I'll still have a car and a car payment. I'll still have a love for theatre, too.

When I leave, I'll go to Nebraska. A handful of old friends will hear that I became one of those Heartland kids who went away to college, went away to act, and then retreated to the plains. They won't hear that the battle was only within. They'll never know that the retreat was only a regrouping.

I'm fine with that. What I will not do is become one of those Heartland kids who becomes a Heartland adult who becomes a Heartland heehaw before 30. I am 23. I have a degree. I will not work part-time just to get by, puddle-hopping from job to job, and I certainly won't let my spirits die in a slow burn. I am not moving back to Nebraska; I am moving away from Cincinnati.

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So...where will I be by, say, October?

Maybe military, perhaps back in school. Definitely in a different venue. The thing is not just to leave but to leave with grace, with dignity. Fortitude, too. Because "Fate doesn't hang on a wrong or right choice / Fortune depends on the tone of your voice."

In other words: Not the words, but the ink. Not the ink, but the page. Not the page, but the book. Not books but libraries, not libraries but knowledge. And all that.

Because this change, however big, is small. Hardly worth reading about, or writing about.

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Vonnegut was right: We know too little to think our lives are such big deals.

So was Auden.

I knew it was gonna be a big year, though.