I discovered my diary written in 1970/71. It was retrieved this past summer from a box in my family’s attic. This was a crucial time in my life. I had been in the seminary for five years and was on the verge of taking vows. I was disenchanted and frustrated in using my talents of directing plays for preaching peace and good will. A big decision had to be made. I am sharing this with you. It is a window onto my soul at that time in my “sentimental education”.
The following entries are eactly as written:
Friday, December 11, 1970 – 5pm
Sometimes I feel so very sad. I don’t know why. Wait – I really do but the thought of it makes me so sad – I seek compassion and so I forget it. I am scared of life. What will happen next year? Standing in the bathroom suddenly I shuddered – “ I am going to die. Then what?” At times like these all my wildest dreams seem wild, foolish, no longer pleasurable fantasy but a foolish venture. Where do I go? Do I stay? Do I go? I don’t know.
Saturday, December 12, 1970 – 5:30 pm
The joy of having accomplished something is overpowering. I feel like busting out and singing – so I put on a record and make believe I’m Leonard Bernstein conducting my bookshelf with a Bic pen. Yet when one does accomplish something we can feel two ways. We can either be so eager to do more or we can completely relax and not want to do a blessed thing until time forces its accomplishment. Right now I have finished a term paper, listing to some glorious Tchaikovsky and just enjoying every God damn minute of it!
Monday, December 14, 1970 – 7pm
Well, I’ve done it agai! For some unknowable reason (or some hidden reason which I can’t even acknowledge) I circle in like a hawk and tear my prey to shreds. At times I’m funny like Don Rickles but like Don Rickles the insulting goes just a bit too far – and a great deal beyond that. What really hurts me, beside the fact that I am truly sorry for this way of acting towards a person, is the insincerity in which my friends view my apologies. I really do mean what I say – not when I’m insulting though! I am truly sorry and I always resolve to keep watch over my tongue. But sometimes I get carried away and I don’t know how to reconcile myself to my friends, especially ones whom I love dearly and should never act it that manner at any time, for any reason. I am a fool.
Wednesday, January 6, 1971 – 2pm
Funny today is the Epiphany, and I decided to leave the seminary. I’m scared, very scared; not about what I’ve chosen but how to execute the future. I know I want to enter drama, movies or TV. I think TV is a good, solid starting place. I’ll be leaving my friends and that is what scares me. I don’t want to be alone. I want people to love and people to care for me. Am I capable of living alone, out there? Why has God cursed me? If I didn’t have my friend Charley, I don’t know where I would be. At least I can be reasonably sure that I am loved. But can a girl love me, or more to the point, could I love her? I don’t want to be alone! I have been hiding here for too long! I know what I want and I must do it. But oh God, what lies ahead in the darkness. If only I could see!
Wednesday, June 9, 1971 – Noon
Well, it’s been a long time; so much has happened as a matter of fact, a hell of a lot. Why the gap? I think I was so involved with Hadrian VII (a play that I directed as my swan song at the seminary) that nothing else mattered. Now everything matters. I have left the seminary. Actually, factually, I have closed the door on that span of my childhood. I am now a young man who must face up and grow. Everything is happening too very fast – Everything at once. I have left. I face the world.
I love! Yes a new love, (I had met a man who did makeup on the production I just directed) but now the possibilities are open,. It is no longer a dead end street. At least I now have a chance to love and be loved. This person is wonderful, beautiful, and plainly fantastic. As always however, I am scared of no response on the others part.
“Being in Love” is only half of my romantic dream. I have been in love – many times but here is another half – their loving me. All the past loves were petty and flirt. This one, only 1-½ months old, is mature and warm and sincere. It’s just that will the person love me? Can I “win” their love?
Love, Love, Love. How I hate that word. How I love it. Without it would be banality, with it – storm, exciting spring rain. Pour on me – Pour! Pour! Pour!
“Years from now when you talk about this – and you will – be kind. …”