It's hard for me to care about my career when there's so much else out there that deserves my care and attention.

Sometimes in the midst of great success and amazing artists, an emptiness lingers within me. I question what use my work will be when the show has closed and the audience has moved on to the next spectacle. At my most depressed, I look back at my resume and see a graveyard: great works, passed on, never to live again.

When Peter Brook talks about "Living Theatre" he isn't talking about zombie resurrections of successful shows of yore. Sure, those shows can earn/adapt/grow in their reiteration, but they hardly have a living impact outside of the seeing place. Brook is talking about a company that tries to make waves. The Living Theatre may have been among the weirdest of the weird, but at least they believed in something outside of their medium.

I'm starting to believe that the only way to avoid this emptiness that haunts me even during the most impeccably rendered productions is to guide more of my personal work toward the reality that exists outside the theatre. If I have to start making theatre on my own, then I have to make responsible work. Work that looks out at the world immediately surrounding it. In other words, to capture reality and bring it in to the theatre. I want to start making real theatre.

Theatre that scares the right people.

Theatre that doesn't let the audience escape, because there is no escape.

There must be a way to entertain while retaining our sense of reality.

Remember when it was hip to want a better world?

There's got to be a way to keep it real.

To stop looking past the things that make us feel uneasy.

After all, it's worked in the past.