all the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey

With only one day to explore Nice, I decided to go for a run – it seemed like the cheap, efficient thing to do. And the best way to burn off some of that gelato that seemed to linger well past its due.

So I ran. Around the hotel, and through some side streets. I ran down to the beach, and along the boardwalk, and did my sidestep around the dogs and the power-walkers. I ran with the sun to my back and a soft breeze ahead, and it was so calming that I ran, at times, with my eyes closed. And before long, and without knowing, I had run into a large, stinking, putrid pile of self-doubt. And no matter how hard I stepped or how quickly I ran, I could not shake it off.

The fact of the matter was this: I liked Nice. I liked the beachfront, the wide expansive boardwalk, the palm trees. I liked the sun and the sunbathers. I liked the people running with their dogs. I liked the ocean calm and collected. And the old men searching, head bent, for pearls among the pebbles.

And I sat there and thought to myself at the end of it all “well, that was unexpected.” This from someone who finds no appeal in California – for whom there is only one coast, rocky and industrial. For whom the beach life is nothing more than sand and fake plastic trees.

Maybe I'm growing, huh? Changing.

Or maybe I’m starting to realize that I don’t know myself as well as I thought. What if there really is a beach bum buried beneath these layers of Broadway? What a frightening thought. And even more so, this: what if, through a series of different turns, I could have ended up elsewhere – even happier, perhaps, than I am now – tanning my skin a rough and leathered brown?

Herbert, you old dog – you had it wrong: self doubt is the mind-killer. We can all overcome fear. Fear is nothing. Sit in therapy and have yourself de-conditioned. Self doubt hides in the shadow behind the curtain, whispering in your ear until you grow flushed and flustered and forget your lines. And when you run backstage there is nothing there. Then the review comes out in the Times the next morning and that’s that. Self doubt can haunt you forever.

I doubt myself all the time, yes. I have questioned my talent as an artist, my intelligence, my potential as a physician/boyfriend/future husband/parent. But I think doubt and confusion can be good things – after all, who grows if never questioned; if never forced to ponder his own decisions and limitations? When these build up and fortify we call it strength: when they break down and cripple we call it weakness. I think I may sit somewhere in the middle of this spectrum. But I also have a certain come-what-may attitude with regard to things, which seems to help at times.

So for now I’ll be keeping my distance from both coasts. And I’ll continue to cling to what I feel is right, and not look back, and just keep running against the wind. After all, what other way do I know… what other way is there – to go?