The Quiet Surrender
Giving Up My Dreams for Our Dreams
Two weeks ago my husband and I took a spur of the moment trip to Santa Barbara. Our friend was playing a show at The Lobero Theatre.
At the beginning of our relationship we had this kind of spontaneity.
On New Year’s Eve 2021, before we were officially a couple, drunk in my cousin’s kitchen Andrew leaned into me, “Let’s go to San Francisco tomorrow.”
He was a bartender, and I was a tutor on winter break. I needed a distraction from my bank account and the harsh reality that no work would be coming in for at least another week. No responsibilities.
We went.
Irish coffees at the Buena Vista. A nod to our first date at Tom Bergin’s where we settled deep into a booth, and he told me his family secrets, “Take it or leave it.”
I took it.
The bartender lined up a row of glasses along the bar top lip to lip. A legendary production. Two sugar cubes in each. Drip coffee poured into the mouths. Overflowing. Liquor, not a drop wasted. Homemade whipped cream. Any other bartender’s nightmare. Not at the Buena Vista.
After San Francisco, we became inseparable. Late nights at the bar became late nights for me waiting up for him. If I was sleeping over at his house, he would come pick me up in my pajamas half asleep on the couch.
One night, we were pulled over by the cops after midnight because we didn’t see a sign that said no right on red. The cop peeked his head in and saw me half asleep in my pjs. Taking pity on me, he let us go with a warning to fix the broken headlight.
On our third date, Andrew brought his dad’s golf tie and put it over my eyes. I laughed at the absurdity worried that the tie would ruin my makeup. “No peeking.”
Buckled into the passenger seat of his Lincoln I felt the flat of the San Fernando Valley ascend to the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills. I knew exactly where he was taking me.
I gave in.
Our love grew. Andrew moved in with me, and we painted our living room pink. We made our first Thanksgiving turkey using 3 different recipes. One from his brother-in-law, one from my best friend, and one from my mom.
Our lives began to intertwine.
We began to go on double dates. His friends became my friends. My friends became his. We began to build our little life.
No longer did I dream of leaving the place I was. Something I have struggled with the entirety of my life. New dreams began to take shape.
Life moved forward.
I fell out of love with the self I once was. I began questioning every motive I had ever made.
Why had I moved to LA? My father was right. I can’t live a life waiting. Waiting for something to come in. Working a job to pay the bills while not being quite enough to keep me out of debt. Waiting for my “moment”. I began obsessing over things like emergency funds, 401ks, and Roth IRAs.
I decided that I could not afford the 500 dollars a month for acting class. I needed to pay off my mountain of credit card debt.
At war with myself, old dreams began to fray. How could I continue to give up so much? A life chasing the dream of being an actor still felt elusive. I was so close yet so far. Could I give up the possibility of a future for a dream of the past?
A running list of sacrifices began to solidify. Senior year of high school. No high school graduation. Time lost with my dad who stayed back in Texas to support us. A half hearted experience at UCLA. Summers back in Texas. The last few months with my grandfather before the dementia completely overtook him. No real paycheck. No career advancement. Only jobs to get by, often 2 to 3 at a time. Debt.
An invisible hamster wheel.
Shame. Shame at myself and all I had missed. Shame for even entertaining the idea of giving up on a dream I believed was my destiny. Shame for becoming the person I said I never would be. Someone who lets their dream DIE.
I kept moving trying to balance everything at once. Finishing a few festivals in my short film’s run. The actors’ strike. The writers’ strike. I’d already lived through one of those.
Maybe this career really isn’t meant to be. Maybe it’s for another season.
Now is a season is for growth, stability, and routine, sometimes spontaneous but mostly intentional. A time to dream.
Dreams that are for “us” and not for just “me”.
I’ll take it.
