Nothing dramatic happens. It’s not like a halo comes down from heaven and crowns me, it’s not like my office is flooded with golden light and the sound of angels singing. And I don’t feel like I’m hanging from a tree Hanged Man style, certainly.
But the words are spoken now and the idea is real, and now it’s floating in the office like an invisible fog, making the air thick and cold. It never felt like a real option before, it never even seemed like a possible path, because I loved doing it, because it was my whole life. But now it’s there, beckoning to me, unfurling like the new leaves of spring. I could quit doing porn. I could stop being Logan O’Toole, porn star, and go back to my birth name, go back to the dreams I used to have. Going to school, making films.
It’s not that easy, I realize with a sinking stomach and a glance around my office. Camera equipment litters the room, unfinished contracts pile high on my desk, old tax forms are banked against the far wall like a pile of red and white leaves. In my email inbox are practically thousands of unanswered emails—projects and scenes that are in every imaginable stage, convention panels that I’ve agreed to be on, articles I’ve agreed to be interviewed for. I live so deeply within my own life, and there are so many threads running through it. Tying off every loose end would take months, and the thought of all that work makes me preemptively exhausted. It would be easier to cut and run...or simply stay. Stay and change nothing.
I get up and walk out of my office, trying to walk away from my thoughts. I go for a swim, I tidy up my kitchen. I drive to my parents’ house and help them pack up some things for their move to Portland, and as I do, things slowly start to settle into place.
Their packing isn’t easy, and there are times when I catch Mom staring at the backyard with a look on her face that suggests she’s mentally replaying all those sappy moments from my childhood that parents like to hold on to. There are times that I catch Dad rubbing his jaw and standing in the middle of a room, just looking. They’re leaving so much behind, an entire life of memories and moments that fused us together into a family, but they’re still doing it and making these huge changes because they have faith. Like The Hanged Man, they know the sacrifice will be worth it.
When I get home that night, the first thing I do is call Tanner and tell him everything, from the moment Devi and I jumped in a pool together at Vida’s to her leaving me last week, and I tell him what I’ve been thinking about today. He mostly listens in silence, only speaking when my ramblings finally come to an end.
“So you think it’s wrong to do porn now?” he asks. There’s no judgment or expectation in his tone, but I still scramble to answer so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“I don’t think it’s wrong. I’m pretty sure I’ll never think that—I still love it, and I don’t regret making it for a minute. But I think maybe while it isn’t wrong, it’s not right for me any longer. I think I want something else.”
Tanner is quiet for a moment. “So what happens next?”
“I don’t know.” I use the heel of my hand to rub at my forehead. “I guess the first thing is deciding if I really want to do this. If I really want to leave porn.”
“Because there’s no guarantee that Devi will take you back,” Tanner points out. “So if you do this, then you need to be okay with that outcome.”
I think back to all those moments in my life where I’ve felt that big feeling, where I’ve felt a sense of vision and purpose and creative will. As a kid and as an adult, by myself and with Devi. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t doing this for her,” I admit, “but I’m doing it for me too. When I ask myself what I really want for my life, I can’t find a real answer anymore—and I think that, in and of itself is enough reason to change.”
“Just tell me what you need and I’ll do everything I can to help,” Tanner says, and I wish I could give him a giant hug over the phone. But I can’t, so I clear my throat, find a pencil and some paper, and we start planning the end of Logan O’Toole, porn star.
In the end, it does take a couple months. Doing it right—ending all of my projects and contracts professionally and amicably—is so much harder than just packing up and leaving town. But leaving would have been something an older version of myself would have done—the impulsive, emotional Logan who just wanted love and romance and connection. He would have chased after Devi relentlessly, he would have been showering her with orgasms and gifts and saying fuck it to everything else.