Sure, moving to New York City is a dream for many, but what do you do once you get here? When does the independent wealth happen? Unless, of course you come from a very wealthy family or already have a job offer. But what if you don't? What if you spent your last couple of dollars on a hot dog from a street vendor? What if your love of seeing theatre is eating away at your bank account? What if you were mugged by a prostitute with one eye? What if those damn M&M's from M&M's World in Times Square prove to be too tempting and you spend $30 for a nibble of chocolaty goodness? Well, I didn't spend my last few dollars on a hot dog, but I have seen some shows, haven't run into any prostitutes, and those damn M&M's... Yes, I spent $30 on M&M's! Just shoot me...after my story.
I grew up in rural, nowhere Pennsylvania, otherwise known as Lebanon. Dun dun dun. For whatever reason, whenever I think of my hometown that dun dun dun sound plays in my head. I had a unique upbringing. Maybe unique is not the proper word. Challenging? Colorful? Scary? Well, it was definitely an upbringing. My father, was a Vietnam hero, in my eyes (Though, I have never been an advocate of war, and I never understood the severity of a war's impact until I witnessed my father's illness.).My father came from a very dark childhood, he “escaped” it by enlisting in the Marines, and was ultimately sent to Vietnam. Can you even call that an escape? I guess it was an escape for him considering his home life. For me, an escape would be booking a permanent vacation to Bora Bora or at least the mall where I could buy more scarves, but I digress. I won't go into his whole story, but I wanted to make it very clear that he didn't have another outlet. My father now suffers from schizophrenia. If you don't know what that is, Google it. If you've never heard of Google well, I don't know what to tell you. During my formative years, I witnessed my father's destructive behavior, but he is still a hero in my eyes, and I can say that he's one of the most brilliant people that I've ever met. Even more brilliant than Bernadette Peters, and if you know my admiration for my dear old Bernie, you'd know the intensity of my feelings. My mother is a nurturer, a caregiver, the glue that held us together as a family. My mother came from a large family, and like all families they had their own problems. Problems like a lot of people in a small house, sibling rivalry, etc. I remember my mom telling me how her brothers used to hang her Chatty Cathy doll on the laundry line by her string. I guess after that, Chatty Cathy wasn't so chatty any longer. However, my mother raised my brother, sister, myself, and the rest of the neighborhood kids (yes, the whole neighborhood) with the understanding that we were worthy. Watching my mother struggle with my father's illness was challenging, but she remained as stoic as she possibly could considering the circumstances. Most people would be what we like to call a “hot mess” if they were in my mother's shoes. We didn't grow up with much more than love. My father was a garbage man, a very honorable job, in my opinion. My mother worked for Goodwill Industries for most of my childhood (Again, another honorable job). My parents worked diligently to put food on the table, but alcoholism prevailed. My father's demons were too much and he took to the bottle... every single day. And he drank Old Milwaukee...I mean GROSS! Old Milwaukee? I'd much rather drink battery acid or sewage, but to each his own, no? Regardless of his taste, this was not a good choice what with his illness and all. I remember the challenges my mother was faced with: Not having money for bills, our electric being turned off, the water being shut off. We were on a first name basis with the cable company since they liked to tell us that they're cutting the cable so often. How does this help the story, you ask? Well, I'm getting there. Patience is a virtue, kid! I learned a lot from those formative years.
A month after turning 17, I came out to my parents. It was definitely the most difficult thing I've had to do. Even more difficult than squeezing into skinny jeans. I mean, come on fashion industry! I like to be stylish, and I'm a small person, but when I have to hold my breath to get into the most “in style” pants, there's a problem. I battled and battled with my sexuality. Much like the Joan Crawford and Bette Davis rivalry, but this was the hetero Paul vs. homo Paul battle. In my opinion, this was the battle of the century. I tried to convince myself that I was as straight as a line, but obviously that line was more of a circle. I wanted to hurt myself because at first I couldn't appreciate the being that I was about to become, and the easiest way of hurting myself was binging and purging – a technique of harming myself without anyone really knowing. Please heed my warning: If you know someone dealing with or confronting their sexuality, please help them by loving them, listening to them, respecting them. I can tell you that it is not an easy process, and unfortunately we lose too many closeted individuals because they feel that they have nowhere to turn. My theory of solving that is just to be open with everyone. And most importantly: Love.
How I came out to my father: Remember AOL Instant Messenger? Sound familiar? Does anyone still even use that? If you do, there is thing called Skype now...get on it. Well, there was a girl that I confided in that I met in a random chat room. Her name was Marissa, screen name: Rissibits, and she was the first person that I ever came out to... ever. Like most homosexuals I classified myself as bisexual, a common step in the coming out process. Though I had many girlfriends throughout my “straight” days, I loved them all, but not sexually. The love was deeper than a sexual love. Anyway, Rissibits told me to be proud of who I was and to come out to my family when I was ready. Well, that day, I was ready. I was ready to face the world – balls to the walls. I said, “Hey Dad, I'm bisexual,” and he said to me something along the lines of, “You're my son and I love you” which is what I needed to hear. I'm building momentum. This is awesome! My father had no concerns over my sexuality, but he is only half of my parental unit.
How I came out to my mother: I remember that this was even harder for me than coming out to my father. For me, the fear of rejection by my mother was a mental mind fuck. I didn't want her to deny me the truest love I've ever felt. But, I had to be a man, not a very good man, but a man nonetheless. I said, “Mom, I'm bisexual” and instead of telling me to pack my bags and get out or punching me in the larynx, a stealth move, she hugged me and said, “At least we can check out guys together now”. WHAT?! I was stressing over nothing?! If I knew it was going to be that easy I would've done it when I exited the womb. Well, I'm glad that turned out well – I was one of the lucky gays who wasn't thrown away because I was “different”. I wasn't treated like an outcast in my own family. Okay, so that's all in the clear – I was out to my parents. Now, to the rest of the world. When I do it, I do it big! For me, having people know about my sexuality was never an issue. Never did it bother me that someone might hate me for who I am. It confused me, sure, but who am I to say what is right from wrong? I mean, I don't necessarily agree with heterosexuality, but I tolerate it. Okay, just kidding, I accept everyone, even the people that “hate” me. I actually outed myself in the Lebanon Daily News, a widely-read newspaper. Did I care that my hometown knew about my “little secret”? Hell no! Why should I care? I live by a motto: “This is just as much my world as it is anyone else's”. That is something I tell myself over and over again. Just like when I tell myself, “Paul, you need a new scarf, you need a new scarf.” Right, like I need a hole in the head or a case of rubella.
Okay so, I'm now out and proud and ready to face the crowd. What crowd you ask? Well, the theatre crowd, of course! The theatre is where I escaped from my life. It's the one place that I felt completely free, respected and artistic; A home away from home, if you will. A place that I could be someone else when I was tired of being Paul. Sometimes I get on my own nerves, and I need to break free of myself. I don't know how my family and friends tolerate me sometimes. I'm like the chihuahua of the human race; I always have something to say. I met some of the most brilliant people at The Lebanon Community Theatre. Some have taken me under their wings and showed me the ropes, and I was fortunate to be able to do that for some others as well! I felt like a mother bird who was willing to regurgitate food into my baby's mouth. Of course, I never did that to anyone because at this point, I've broken free of the binging and purging stage of my life. Plus, I think someone would find that awkward, don't you? Well, I never hid myself again. There was no need to. I was surrounded by people who didn't care about my sexuality. Theatre was where I discovered more of who Paul was by becoming someone else. Is that weird? If you're a performer, you'll understand what I mean. If you're not, it's like learning lessons from someone else. Only I didn't know this someone else. This someone else lived in my head. Someone that I brought to life. Get it? Got it? Good! I discovered that I was influential, that I was loving, artistic, strong, weak and everything in between. From the moment I walked on that stage for the first time, playing a Swedish soccer player, I knew that this was right where I belonged. I felt the warm golden lights on my face. I felt eyes looking at me and not through me. I felt respected by the company. I felt appreciated by the audience. A boy could get used to this treatment! Now who's in charge of bringing me a coffee? Grande Pike with a couple cubes of ice.
A major event happened in my life that changed everything. Absolutely everything. My world was flipped upside down in one swift swoop. My boyfriend of six years left me for someone else. The person I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with was cheating on me, and I never saw it coming. Bastard! Well, needless to say I wish him well. But now who was Paul? I lost him somewhere. I felt like flesh and bones, but I didn't feel much else and I couldn't remember why I was in this life. What was I supposed to do? I felt ugly, confused, used, defeated and breathless. All of these emotions at the same time are awful for a Virgo/Actor/Artist. As you can imagine, I was a boatload of crazy following my breakup. I tried to remain as classy as possible at all times, but I had my moments. I decided at that point I needed to make a change. What was I going to do? Take up knitting? Change jobs? World domination? The possibilities were endless. After attempting a go at knitting and self-improvement through yoga, I was still seeking more. It was almost like an addiction I needed to feed, just like my coffee addiction. Well, after I removed myself from the downward dog pose, my approach at a new lifestyle was easy: Move! Leave the memories behind and just move on. That's exactly what I did. Where should I move to? Sure, there were a lot of options. Should I stay in the same state or should I move to a different country? Should I find a little box and become homeless? That would certainly be a different lifestyle. Nope, I would move to my favorite place in the world: New York City! And you say to yourselves, “A-ha! Now we're getting to the point of the story.” Why am I attracted to New York City? Is it theatre? The lights? The beautiful people? The buildings? The diversity? Who knows? All I know is that I love it! I made that move to New York City, leaving a lot behind. I don't get to see my friends and family nearly as much. I am now in a long distance relationship with a really great guy which blossomed at my farewell party, ironically. But I can say that I'm living wholeheartedly. I walked into New York with a little bit of money in my bank account, lots of Starbucks gift cards and my life packed into a few suitcases. (Even one whole suitcase of scarves.) I walked into New York with a lot of heart and determination which I will never lose even though finding a job in this city is like finding a straight man in a gay bar. I was hired as a magician which lasted all of four hours of a shift. I looked like a complete moron trying to do these magic tricks in front a crowd of people. Sure, I had the theatrical side down. I could pretend all day long, but making it look real, that's another story. It was like listening to Heidi Montag's CD: Painful. I looked ridiculous trying to make lights magically appear from some little girl's hand. I'm sure this little girl could have done the trick much better than I. As I struggled through the magic trick and the script that they gave me to memorize, she looked at me with this “WTF is this guy doing” kind of face. I knew I was doomed. I knew that I would never get her to believe that I knew magic. I almost resorted to explaining that I was a magical elf from the North Pole and when I'm not in the North Pole my magic doesn't work, but I didn't. I should have. When I told my boss that this was not going to work for me, do you know what he said? No, not, “Well, good try anyway” or “Thank you for trying”...I heard, “Well, you can be a quitter if you want” GASP! What?! Paul David Miller a quitter? NEVER! So, I said, “I quit”. Okay, so technically maybe I'm a “quitter”, but magic's hard! It might look easy, that sleight of hand shit, but it's no easy task. You've got to be a quick little sucker to make the illusions work. Now that I understand magic, I'm not impressed. I wish I wouldn't have taken that job. Now I will understand magicians to be liars. All of this brings me back to my point: The things I never learned. If you read between the lines you will see them. If you don't know how to read between the lines, let me help you out.
The things I never learned:
I never learned to hate, only to love.
I never learned to misunderstand.
I never learned that failure was an option.
I never learned that magic wasn't real.
I never learned that loving wasn't easy.
I never learned that I am less than anyone, because I'm not.
I never learned to knit.
Believe me, there's more where that came from. Now excuse me while I eat some M&M's.
Gratitude to Ms. Mandy McNalis for the proofing skills.