A Period of Transition

“Transitioning isn’t pretty, but stagnation is hideous.”—Nikki Rowe

“Nothing is permanent in this world—not even our troubles.”—Charlie Chaplin from “Monsieur Verdoux”

People love throwing sayings at you when you are going through life’s trials and tribulations. For instance, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” Okay. Suppose, like me, you don’t like lemonade. I’ve been handed lemons and done nothing with them. Most of my lemons turn mushy with white and green mold on their bottoms.

Here’s another: “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Worst advice for someone depressed or out of work. “Get out of bed and do something with your life” should be the advice.

And that’s where I am at. For the last year, I have basically been out of paying work. I’ve written a book and pitched some ideas, but so far, not much dough has been coming in. When people ask me if my work has returned, if I tell them the truth, they don’t have much to say.

Sometimes there is nothing to say. Sometimes the person just needs to hang tight and see what will be revealed. We’ve heard, “When God closes one door, he opens another.” True. But the waiting in the hallway for that other door to open can be painful. So, while waiting for that door to open, don’t forget that it’s important to keep knocking.

Just recently, as I was walking slowly to get my mail (there is no need to walk fast if you are out of work), I bumped into a neighbor who told me that his business of many years is now on life support. I asked him what he might do. He said he thinks he might enjoy flipping houses. “Good idea, but start small,” I said. “First try flipping pancakes.” Generally, injecting a little humor never hurts. He mumbled something about being in transition, then quickly walked off without the usual smile and a “see you later.”

So, like him, I thought, hey, I’m in a period of transition. In fact, isn’t all of life transitioning from one thing to another thing. Breakfast to lunch. House to car. Emotion to emotion. Until eventually the ultimate transition. “Transition” is a nice word if you believe you’re transitioning to somewhere better. If not, the “T” word could be scary.

An extremely uncomfortable conversation is when my wife asks me what I am going to do about work if things dry up. I hate the sound of “dry up.” Dry up sounds so fatalistic. When I think hard, what comes to me is that I am not really cut out to do most other things especially now that I have aged like a good porterhouse, slightly marbleized on both the inside and outside. I have been a comedian for almost 40 years. My B plan was my A plan.

My friend George Stanley is 96 years old. I speak with him maybe three times a week. George is also out of work. I tell him for his sanity and the sake of his marriage, he should go back to school and get a new career.  He agrees. He and his wife Sandra, who is only in her 80s (a mere spring chicken compared to him), sing together each day. And occasionally they will sing “You Are My Sunshine” to me on the phone. When I am down, hearing those two belting it out can really cheer me up.

George is a warehouse of aphorisms. Somehow words coming from George make me feel like they’re coming straight from above. He always reminds me of three things.

First, each day, just put one foot in front of the other and make sure you do something to move yourself forward. That will make you feel better.

Second, don’t take yourself too damn seriously. Getting too serious can depress and immobilize you.

Third, let go or be dragged. The more you hold on, the more you might get hurt. Those things have made a big difference.

These three reminders have pulled me out of many a pit that I had begun to dig for myself and even started to furnish.

These three reminders have pulled me out of many a pit that I had begun to dig for myself and even started to furnish. George continually reminds me that I have always landed on my feet. (My question is what do you tell someone with no feet that they will land on? Just asking.)

So, daily I am left with two choices: plow on or buckle under. I choose to plow on. And I try not to worry more than a little. I bet doctors tell patients not to worry more than almost anything else. Someone told me to let God do the worrying and that I should just do the work.

But if I ever show up at your office and you see me floating around and you are wondering what I might be doing there, two things could be true. I might be stopping by to say hello, or I just might be in a period of transition.

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.