As my compass turns...
Or why my best decisions have been... snap.
In 1993, after returning from a six-month gig at the Grand Central Hotel in Bangkok, I was at loose ends. I’d been playing in original bands and sadly, Top 40 bands for nearly 13 years and I was extremely sick of it. One more drunk guy who spills his beer on my keyboard and I’m going postal kind of sick. It’s said that prisons are horrible places where you see the worst of humanity. Ah, true, but I’d counter that bars (can be) a close second. At least if you work there.
My “boyfriend” at the time, a loose but good looking cannon who made delightful promises and then broke every single one, had offered to locate an apartment for us upon my return. Instead he, like the diaphanous will o’ the wisp that he was, evaporated yet again.
With zero job prospects in Seattle, I pulled my trusty, dinged up, well-loved Isuzu Rodeo out of storage, and drove across country to Maryland, where my dad and brother had started a biotech company. I took the northern route, but when I hit Wyoming, I had this hankering to see Yellowstone. The north entrance was closed, because it was April and snow was still blocking roads, so I drove 300 miles south along the Tetons to the other entrance, only to find it was also closed. Um.
I did, however, spot a moose. Win!
So, I made the diagonal trek from southwestern to northeastern Wyoming in order to catch the freeway. While getting there, I toyed with the romantic notion of changing my name to something like Jessie Catchus, and getting a ranch hand job at the first ranch I came to. Which was absurd because I’d never worked on a ranch and had no clue what it would be like. But I was young and strong and thought, hell, why not?
During that leg of the journey, all the way to the freeway, I did not see ONE telephone pole, fence, cow, or other evidence of human presence, other than the asphalt I was on. Just antelopes. I didn’t even pass any cars. I was astonishingly alone, and I realized this was the first time in my life that had ever been the case.
I eyed the gas gauge nervously as the miles racked up. Just shy of the freeway I limped into a station on fumes - my bones would probably still be strewn along the road had I run out on that lonely stretch. I think back on that experience every once in a while and wonder what would have become of me if I’d found work. At the time, I just wanted to slip into blissful anonymity.
The ministers of fate had something else in mind.
I arrived in Rockville, Maryland to begin building biotech equipment. I learned AutoCAD and worked with a talented machinist to make parts for what would become two-dimensional electrophoresis equipment, as well as the first centrifugal oligonucleotide synthesizer ever built. It was a huge learning curve, but for some mystical reason, my dad and brother had faith in me, so I succeeded. And that experience birthed a desire to do more with computers.
In the 90’s there were very few places offering 3D courses, let alone degrees. But Art Institute of Seattle (may it rest in peace, or pieces, depending on whether you got your diploma before the whole Art Institute world collapsed) had just started to offer a two-year course in 3D.
But first I had to take care of a pesky problem that had dogged me since 11th grade. I had left school to pursue a dance scholarship in Germany before my senior year, and now that decision threatened to crater my budding plans. So, I flew back out to Washington State, somehow aced the GED, and made a beeline for the Art Institute.
I had to fly BACK to Maryland to finish the oligonucleotide synthesizer and pack it up for shipment. That seemed the pinnacle of irony – getting my GED on one hand, while finishing the construction of a machine that could, excruciatingly slowly, mind you, one base per hour, assemble a very short DNA chain. This, I felt sure, was proof that God possessed a refined sense of humor.
This is also, finally, where I’m getting to the reason I mentioned the Picasso story at the top. I sat down with the recruiter, who pulled out a sheet listing all the courses for the two years. I scanned it for 5 seconds, and said “I’m in. Sign me up.” The recruiter asked - didn’t I want to think it over? - but in those 5 seconds I made a gut decision that radically altered the course of my life. I didn’t need to mull it over, I KNEW.
And to paraphrase Mr. Gioia, sometimes you just do. Belaboring it can rob you of clarity. It doesn’t always work, but for the biggest decisions I’ve had to make in my life, those in-the-moment ones have taken my life to some very unusual places.
I admire people who make PLANS, the ones carved into a sheer rock face for lesser mortals to admiringly gaze upon - glorious, sweeping, majestic even. And then they EXECUTE THOSE PLANS with logical precision, all the way to their inevitable conclusion. The look that says - “A child could do it”. - L. McCoy.
Fuck. That takes a phenomenal degree of fortitude and focus. And complete lack of doubt. Then there are people like me, who bang around like a sound barrier-busting ping pong ball in a box, careening off the walls, the final trajectory incalculable. The fact that I’ve done 3D animation for nearly thirty years completely floors me. Up until this career, fourteen years had been my limit.
And now? Well, now that compass swings yet again.
Yes, my soft, squishy gut, containing more neurons than that big blob perched on top, has a lot of say in how, where and what I wind up doing. I listen to what it says more so these days. Was this latest compass pivot a snap decision? Yes, and also no.
Signing up to Substack - a spasm that overtook me and I acted on. Glad I did. I love this place and feel like I’ve found a safe home. Releasing my confession (see my first post), here and on LinkedIn, also a spasm that hijacked my index finger and made it press UPLOAD. Other decisions have been aging like fine wine.
Have I GOT GUT? Realistically? Figuratively? I think so. But if my new direction in music doesn’t pan out, I’ll lay all the blame on it.
Thank you so much, Allison!
I love what you’re writing