“My Mental Flea Market: A Collector of Thoughts”
Cool Shit, Old Friends, and the Art of Sitting With Uncomfortable Emotions
I have now lived in Los Angeles for 36 years. I’ve made my life here. The other night, I attended a studio opening for a friend I've known for over 25 years.
Jonathan and I met at an audition in the late 1990s. He’s one of those people who radiate positive energy and a playful optimism. He’s that guy who throws fun parties, is always 100% unapologetically himself.
Jonathan has always been a collector of objects. By objects, I mean he is that guy who goes to flea markets and scours Craigslist and buys things, all kinds of things. Things that look like sculptures, things that look like toys, just lots of uniquely Jonathan things. Over time he has amassed an enormous collection of cool shit from mid-century to the 1970’s. He was written up in the New York Times about his collection NFS (Not For Sale) and it’s the name of his business.
I think this story explains Jonathan perfectly and why his business is called Not For Sale. At the time, he drove a pale blue vintage Ford Bronco.
At one point, he sold it. Then, he regretted the sale so much that he persuaded the buyer to sell it back to him. I was hanging out with Jonathan after he sold the Bronco, and he was ruminating over the sale, feeling such a sense of loss that he told me he was going to call the buyer and buy it back. At the time, I thought that was a bit extreme, and yet it made perfect sense. He convinced the buyer of his Bronco to sell it back to him. That’s Jonathan.
This pop-up collection, now available for sale, was located in a warehouse space on N. Western Ave. in Los Angeles. At first, I felt out of place, I thought, because it was full of East Side artsy-types, mostly younger and hipper than me. And by 'hipper than me,' I am not implying that I was ever hip. That’s not me, and I'm okay with that. If I’m honest, the reason I felt out of place is that I get anxious going to parties, especially if I don’t know who’s going to be there. I think it’s part of the ADHD thing where there is so much unknown information that if I focus on it I get overwhelmed. (I don’t think I have ever shared that about myself, but my close friends know I have a tendency to jump on the mental merry-go-round.)
The first floor was mostly empty, except for a beat-up vintage Porsche, the kind that I think was made famous by James Dean, although I could be wrong. The point is I am not surprised there is a beat up vintage car in the space.
Jonathan’s collection was upstairs and was beautifully displayed and curated. The loft space is “U” shaped, and on one end of the “u” was an oversized director's chair, and on the other side of the “u” was a photograph of a naked woman, and near it were objects that had more of an organic than a man-made feel. Everything on display ranged from practical to playful, whimsical, sculptural, and organic, with a hint of the lightly sexual.
As I moved about the space and interacted with the objects, I began to feel a sense of connection. I started to feel grounded and regulated. I connected to the objects, to the space, and myself.
I majored in Studio Art at UC Davis. I primarily took photographs, but also painted and created sculptures. I love the visual arts. I feel at ease walking through a gallery and looking at the art on display. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have been struggling with slippage, and I need to reconnect with what inspires me, with what makes me feel alive.
I woke up this morning with a thought about Jonathan, a word sprang to mind, and the word is: expansive. Being fully aware that I am viewing his life from the outside, the past twenty years of Jonathan’s life can look expansive. He followed his love of collecting objects, selling a few, and keeping most of them. He has built a reputation as someone who has an eye for collecting things and curates them in such a way that an oversized, six-and-a-half-foot-tall director's chair and a 7-foot-tall abstract sculpture made of deer antlers, which resembles a coat rack, make sense sharing the same space.
I reflected on how he has continued to follow his passion for collecting objects and has made a career and a name for himself. He’s that guy who collects cool things.
I’m in a reflective period in my life. I woke up thinking that, in some ways, my life has contracted over the past 20 years.
“Hey Dave,” I asked myself, “What do you want to do with the next ten years of our life?” “I’ll answer that in a minute.” “Okay, but what do you mean when you say your life feels contracted?” I respond, “I mean my soul. My soul feels contracted.” “Explain yourself,” I say.
Looking at my life from the surface, I am married, we own a house in Los Angeles (in a very desirable neighborhood), and we have two beautiful children, ages 13 and 11. Yes, this is all true, but I can’t help feeling that a part of my soul has contracted. I did not follow through with pursuing my desires. I did not follow my heart. I may be sounding a bit dramatic. Yes, in some ways, I followed my dreams of acting and storytelling, but only to a certain extent. I am not denying the success I had acting in commercials. I shot over 103 commercials, had uninterrupted healthcare for 26 years through SAG-AFTRA, and built a nice little pension.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love, got married, and had children. And with that responsibility, I struggle to be the provider, the husband, father, and partner to my wife and kids I would like to be.
I feel like I can’t define myself in the way I can define Jonathan. I know comparing is the thief of joy. I don’t want his life. I choose mine. However, I feel that I have not defined myself and have allowed external circumstances to define me. Extrinsically motivated versus intrinsically motivated.
“Dave, you're doing it again,” I say. “Doing what?” “Using fancy words, speaking in abstractions, and jumping on the mental merry-go-round,” I respond to my own inquiry. “So? I like words and that’s what I do.” “Okay, but make sure you write like you talk.” “Got it,” I say, I’m in the middle of telling a story.” “Continue, by all means,” I respond.
I feel I have a mental collection of interests, similar to how Jonathan has a physical collection of objects that may seem unrelated, but make sense to me. Not unlike Jonathan from the past, I have a difficult time selling them or letting them go. My love of writing. My love of images. My love of architecture, real estate, and curated spaces. My love of helping people. My love for my family. My love of connecting with people, despite my feeling uncomfortable around strangers. My love of performing. My love of reading a script and immersing myself in a story. My love of food is a form of expression and a means of connection and community. My love of breaking patterns, like driving a different route home and discovering a street or neighborhood I have not seen before…
What I do know is that I have a choice. I can focus on the future. I can create it now. Or live in the misery of the mind of the past. What I do know is that what grounded me in the space was my ability to shift my focus. I observed the work around me without judgment and with curiosity. I leaned into observing people and how they interacted with each other in the space.
I choose now. I choose the future. I choose my life again and again. If comparison is the thief of joy, acceptance opens the door for joy to enter that comparing once closed. I open the door.
I open the door to possibilities, I open the door to my heart. I open the door to forgiveness, healing, and love. And shortly after making that decision and shift in thinking, I was ready to leave. I turned and took one step down the stairs to get to the first floor. I noticed the weathered exposed wood worn from years of use, then looked up and saw another friend I have known possibly longer than Jonathan. Heather. Jonathan mentioned that Heather, “You know, the nicest person you will ever meet in Los Angeles, that Heather r.s.v.p’d.” I immediately knew who he was talking about(it’s the only person named Heather we have in common, but that’s beside the point).
I ended up walking around and chatting with Heather and her friend, whom I also know from auditioning for commercials in the late 1990s, but I can’t remember her name. Sorry. What’s important is connection, curiosity, acceptance, self-compassion, and shifting your focus from the internal to the external, which opened up the possibility of that synchronistic meeting. Not in a woo-woo way, because if I followed my impulse, I would have made a quick lap, looked at the collection, said hello to Jonathan, made one more quick lap to be sure I didn’t miss anything, and then leave without saying goodbye.
Instead, I sat with the anxiety, the uncomfortable feelings, just hung out with my acwkward and uncomfortable self and eventually shifted my thought from I don’t know anyone here, to-I know Jonathan, to-I like looking at cool shit, to-I’m okay just standing here looking at people…I talked myself into being present and accepting being uncomfortable. It’s a choice. Life is a fucking choice. What are you going to choose?
Fun Shit To Try:
Grab a sticky note and write one thing you love that you’ve forgotten to make time for lately. Put it where you’ll see it tomorrow morning.
Make a list of five things you’re still passionate about—no judgment, no editing. Just list.
DM a friend you haven’t seen in a while. Ask them what’s lighting them up lately.