I had been awake for a while, but there was no sign of Ryan. An hour passed. I left the cameras behind and went for a walk on the beach, past the actor Stephen Dorff doing push-ups on his deck, all the way to an outcropping of rocks. The beach was as glorious as ever. It has always been hard for me to have a broad perspective on my life. I was trained to survive the moment. Now I was my own master. I made my own choices. But I still had to wait for my oversleeping father on this windy Malibu morning. When would my life truly be my own? I turned around and headed back to the house, thinking these thoughts. At the house, Ryan finally emerged from his bedroom. He gestured from the top landing of the stairs for me to come up. I did, and I changed into sweat clothes so I could ride the exercise bike while we talked and the cameras ran. Today, Ryan was in the mood to read to me from one of his journals. He has journals dating back to the seventies. The part that he read didn’t go deep and was his story, not mine.
