So... it's been almost two years since I last blogged. I'm sorry. Mostly for myself because lots of things have happened in life that could/should have been documented.
When we last left off, I was getting ready to move to Los Angeles to rehearse for the cruise job I got with Holland America. I was so excited. Nervous, yes, but I had a positive and excited outlook on the opportunity. I knew I would make great friends, see beautiful places, and learn a ton about myself and my craft.
Rehearsals were hard but absolutely doable. I was in great physical shape. I was loving my cast and singing everyday all day. The company had a very rigid outline, and I was doing my very best to stick to it. My voice was different from most of the other F1s, and I was being told that daily. I had a big musical theatre voice but "not a pop voice." I wasn't a dancer, and I was hardly even a mover, but I was working harder than I ever had to make that unnoticeable.
When rehearsals started to wrap up, I was getting so excited to move into my new home onboard the ms Oosterdam. I knew that it was going to be eight months of work, play, adventure, learning, growing, healing, and saving money.
After the casts board the ship, there is a two-week process where the shows we learned at the rehearsal studios are put on the stage with the scenery, props, lights, etc. Basically it's tech. I could tell the changeover director didn't like me. I was hard to teach dance/movement to. I didn't pick things up quickly, and I got down on myself easily about it. It's a flaw that I don't love about myself.
As the two weeks began to wrap up, we were working on the final show. One of the set pieces that I had to jump up onto was rickety and not bolted in. But I jumped up on it anyway. It started to rock, and I laughed (because, to be frank, I'd rather laugh quietly to myself than cry or scream for fear of falling). We finished the bows and the director dug right into tearing me a new one, telling me that I shouldn't be "farting around" onstage and to take it a little more seriously. "The rest of us are working," he said. He didn't know the facts. He didn't know that I felt like I was going to fall off of the dangerous, unbolted set piece.
I spoke up. I am not a fighter, you guys. I don't typically talk back. I can count on one hand the number of times I have spoken up about something I either didn't agree with or in my defense. It scares me, to be quite honest. And when it does happen, I get emotional. I cry. My heart rate goes nuts, I shake, and I cry. I cried as I spoke up to him (albeit in front of the cast) and tried to explain what happened. He cut me off and told me to "pull it together." After we finished the rehearsal, I was still so embarrassed and sad with the way things happened, so I went up to talk to him. I, again, tried to explain what had happened, and he wasn't hearing me. At one point he said, "This is show business, not show friends," which happened to be completely irrelevant to what was being said. And not long after that comment, he proclaimed, "This stage is too big for your talent. You are not cut out for this."
Something happened in that moment. Something broke inside. It really did. I have had so many moments when things that people have said have blessed my life, but that, I think, was truly the first time I ever felt broken by what someone said. I crumbled. My self-esteem became non-existent and suddenly I became "not good enough." Every note that I sang from that moment on while I was onboard the Oosterdam wasn't good enough for me to be there. I questioned my talent, my choice of career path. I questioned the friendships I forged, trusting only a select few and dismissing the rest. It was almost as if, in that moment, my heart had built a wall, and there weren't many ways in. I was counting down the days to leave the ship since that day. I was dreading the day I'd ever have to see that director again, and every single time I stepped foot onstage I doubted myself and my talents. It even got to the point where my heart just wasn't in the art at all.
It was a "me" that I didn't like. I was bitter. I was mad. I was sad. I was unbelievably insecure. I was unhealthy. If it weren't for the saving graces - Taylor, Kristy, Lauren, and Ben - that were onboard with me, (and if it weren't for the two weeks Mom was onboard and the two weeks Alan was onboard) I probably would have left early. I got to see some beautiful places and experiences some truly amazing adventures, I won't deny that.
My heart is in knots as I write this... mostly because I realize that it could have been so much more beautiful, adventurous and wonderful... if not for one thing...
As much as I want to blame this director, I can't. Did he say cruel words to me? Yes. That's it. That's all. He didn't set out to ruin the rest of my time onboard. I did it. I did it all. I let fifteen words DESTROY me. I let fifteen words - fifteen words of OPINION - make me a lesser me.
The truth is, I chose to believe it. I made it my truth. I cast out any positive encouragement I'd ever heard before, and I let his opinion become my fact, my life. It consumed me.
When I left the ship in January, I couldn't run fast enough from the gangway to solid, dry land. I was ready to get back to work and talk to my friends and reconnect with reality. I prepared to record an album. I moved back to New York with one of the best humans on the planet. I got new headshots. I prepped for auditions. I was ready to leave all the baggage behind. But guess what? It wasn't that easy...
In those eight months, I had created a habit of hating myself.
See, I had spent so much of my time and energy sulking and bitter-ing that I couldn't just run away from it. I had dug myself into a hole, and I had to slowly climb my way out of the dirty, deep, dark place I had put myself into.
It's been over a year since I got back, and I'm still working on it. I'm reteaching myself how to love what I know I'm supposed to do, and that is to share through song and performance. I want to love myself again. I am constantly surrounded by love from my friends and my family, and that undying support and love is something I cling to with everything in me. It fuels me. It helps me. It heals me.
I'm not telling you this story to try to get you to feel sorry for me; I swear I'm not. I'm telling this story to... well... tell the story. I'm also telling it to share where I am in the story. It's a daily struggle, but it's one that I truly know that I will defeat. I look forward to the day that I can look back on this experience and stand strong and secure.
Perhaps you can take from this one thing: let go of people and of words that tear you down. Don't let it eat you alive. Don't let it defeat you. Don't let it destroy you. Don't let anyone ever dull your sparkle, dammit, and if they try, send them my way. I'll give them a piece of my mind.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The One About Proving Myself.
Two posts ago, I had expressed my state of unhappiness. I had expressed, in so many words, that I was chin-deep in depression and that I was trying to dig my way out of it by choosing different paths than the ones I had been walking, and sometimes sprinting, previously. I've been working on it. Quite actively. It hasn't all been pretty and graceful, but pretty and graceful has never been the Angela Jeffries way. It's in my nature to stumble around quite a bit before I get my footing.
The past two months since that post have been full of recovery, of discovery, of rediscovery.
Life has blessed me with some truly inspiring people. I don't always acknowledge their presence, but they are always there.
Whether it's the friend who only takes pictures of nature to post on Instagram. The friend whose daughter's tragic death has sparked a flame in her to build others through her and their own grief and has helped so many other people to cope. The friends whose sweet family is such a beacon of hope that you just wish you could be a fly on the wall to soak up the love you can only imagine is there. The friend whose love for her two adopted sons melts you with every photo she posts or comment she makes. The friend who knows the exact words to say and when to say them, even from oceans away. The friend who finds the time, energy, and effort to post in his blog everyday about something around him that he's inspired by. The friend who goes out of his way to tell me how much my blog means to him. The friend who sent me a simple, yet sweet, gift in the mail just because he thought of me when he saw it. The friend who is making goals with me. The friend who can give the greatest advice and make me double over with laughter all in the same minute.
Inspirations, big and small, from the most precious people in my precious little life.
I've been sitting on a certain subject for a blog post for some time but am just getting around to putting the jumble of thoughts into so many words for cyberspace. When I sat down at the computer today, I wasn't sure where to start, so I decided to catch up on the latest from the blogs I was following. Today, I was inspired by one in particular. I've always loved reading Emily's posts, but this one struck so many chords with me for some reason. I suppose it goes hand-in-hand with where my mind has been for the past little while and even opened my eyes to some broader outlooks on the matter.
Guilt is an issue for me. It's not a difficult task for anyone to make me feel guilty (though, as Mom says, no one can make you feel any way without your consent). Sad as this is, it often propels me to do something, perhaps because I already feel guilty or for fear that I might if I don't do it. Pathetic, huh? I even blame myself frequently and let myself get so down from the guilt of the blame that it's quite a chore to build myself back up.
Who knows where it started? I grew up in a home where I was very loved (maybe a bit picked on by my siblings, but who wasn't?). I learned how to work hard. I learned how to be on time and how to be frugal. I learned how to be creative and make art. I learned how to be relatively independent. I learned how to be kind and sensitive. Grade school is a bit of a blur for me, so it very well could've come from there. Truthfully, though, it's been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember.
Recently, however, since I've started to really hone in on what's happening in my life, I've figured out that the guilt thing is coming from something else entirely, something bigger: proof. Doesn't make much sense, does it? I'll try to explain a little better.
Here's the sad, awful truth. More than the guilt, the one thing that drives me isn't my ambition; it isn't my love for humankind, it isn't my sensitive nature or tender heart, it isn't a positive outlook on things around me.
Nope.
It's trying to prove myself to other people.
My entire life, I have wanted everyone that I come in contact with to think that I am awesome, so I try to do whatever it takes to try to make them think that. I want people to look up to me and admire me. I want people to understand why I get the things that I get, why I'm given the opportunities I'm given. I want people to want to be just like me. I want people to love me. I want everyone to love me. I want people to want to look like me, act like me. I want to be validated. I want people to always want to be around me. I want approval. I want people to approve of me. I want everyone to approve of me. So I tweak myself here and press myself there in order to be that for them.
I suppose part of that comes from the profession I've chosen. I find a show I'm interested in, learn the material, and then walk into a room where I proceed to try to prove to the people in the room that I'm the right fit.
I had an audition back in August with a national touring company. I went in, sang a song I felt good about and was asked to sing something else. After I finished the second song, the director asked me who I saw myself as in the show. I answered him. He said, "Prove it to me tomorrow." A callback! Success! I went home, worked very hard on the material and came back to try to prove it. But... I still wasn't doing something right. "No, no, you're not quite there yet. We'll try again tomorrow." They offered some suggestions, and I went home and got to work. I dyed my hair. I watched makeup tutorials. I wore a super short dress and high heels. I was willing to do whatever it took to prove that I was right. And still, it wasn't working for the director. Several callbacks later, after I ended up literally on my hands and knees cleaning trash off the floor while I sang a song and did a scene, I thought to myself, "What am I doing?!" Eventually, I received an email from the casting director informing me that the show had been cast. She kindly - truly kindly - told me that I just didn't "have that thing" that they were looking for.
When I look back at that, I think of the earliest interaction. "Who do you see yourself as?" I gave him the answer I thought was right for me, but he didn't see that. His vision of the character was completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to his vision rather than mine.
(Let's think about this in real life while we're at it: so-and-so's vision of who I am is completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to so-and-so's vision rather than mine.)
True, part of the profession is putting yourself out there for them to nitpick on. Absolutely. But let's stop and think for a minute: if what you have to offer is what you have to offer, then what else do you have to offer? And what you have to offer is more than enough. True, you can show them more of what you have to offer, but altering yourself to prove yourself worthy of the role or show? That doesn't seem right. Or authentic. Or anything that I signed up for. One of the many wonderful things about theatre is its rawness. Yes, you're playing a character. Yes, you're playing someone you aren't. But if it doesn't come from a place of authenticity, who cares? Perhaps that's why I find it so important as an actress to pinpoint at least one thing I can relate to in the character I'm playing. I want it to be real... even when I'm playing a turtle or a mole.
More than proving myself in my profession, I've found that it rules my personal walk of life. I have tried for a very long time to prove that I am good enough for someone to want to be with me. I have tried numerous times to prove that I am a good friend - the best friend - to so many people. I have tried to prove that I am the most attentive listener. I have tried to prove that I am the funniest. I have tried to prove that I am the quirkiest. And in all of these things and so much more, I have gone out of my way to show it, to prove it.
And when I can't prove it, I'm not enough. I am constantly trying to prove to other people why I'm good enough, pretty enough, loving enough, nurturing enough, kind enough, right enough, strong enough, smart enough, caring enough, perfect enough, thin enough, gentle enough, nice enough, rich enough, funny enough, and on and on and on and on and on.
And really, what it comes down to is that I lose myself - who I really am - in all of that. I lose myself in trying to be someone else for someone else. It's taken over who I am for a long time. And I'm done. I'm done trying to be someone I'm not for other people.
Because you see, who I really am isn't so bad at all. In fact, who I am is awesome. Yeah, I'm awesome.
I am 27 years old, Texas born and raised, with an accent that only comes out around Mom. I stole a Beauty and the Beast band-aid from Walmart when I was 6 years old and thought I was going to go to jail because of it. I wore my dad's safety glasses to school one day in first grade for attention. I became engrossed with Titanic when the movie came out, and it's still in my top five. I graduated 34th in my class, just one person short of the top 10%. I cry a lot, but not as much as I used to. I thought I was going to get married when I was 19 years old and could have. I wear my heart on my sleeve; it's not hard to figure out how I'm feeling about something. I say "I love you" a lot, and I mean it every time, from the very bottom of my heart; that doesn't make it mean any less. I love my eyes. I hate my nose. I love my teeth and my hair. I love my lips. I hate my eyebrows. I love my body. I love that, more often than not, I control how my body feels based on how I treat it. I spend far too much time on my phone; I'm trying to be better about that. I love foreign films and animated movies, but I hate anime. I abhor abbreviations. I love being barefoot. My favorite song when I was little was "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus," and the song still makes me teary anytime I hear it. I know almost nothing about history and science. I know a lot about grammar and math. I want to write a book one day. I love to wear pajamas almost always, but the girly-girl inside of me loves to put on a cute dress and shoes, curl my hair, and put on lots of makeup. I love babies and dogs. I love food... a lot. I make really great desserts (but sometimes they're disastrous). I know how to throw a really good party and how to be an excellent host. Sometimes I judge people too harshly. Sometimes I don't give people the benefit of the doubt that they deserve. Sometimes I think irrationally. Sometimes I let my heart rule my logic. I'm stubborn. If I say I'm going to do something, I will do it. I over-romanticize things. I over-think things.
While I do believe that life is about becoming a better person, I also believe that it's about being a better you, not a better someone else that so-and-so will approve of. I'm happy with the person I am and the person that I'm becoming. I have nothing to hide. I have nothing to prove to anyone. I choose to make the good things that I do be extensions of who I really am. I don't want to lose who I am in order to please someone else because I want to love who I really am, and I know a lot of people who love who I really am, too. I'm not going to beg people to love me. The people worth impressing are the people I don't have to impress. I want to get all the crap out of the way and just give of myself, without seeking approval. (How many ways can I say that?)
So this is it. I'm going to use my energy I would've used trying to please people and gain their approval on becoming a better version of myself instead. I have a feeling that everyone will just approve of that person anyway. But this time, I will, too.
The past two months since that post have been full of recovery, of discovery, of rediscovery.
Life has blessed me with some truly inspiring people. I don't always acknowledge their presence, but they are always there.
Whether it's the friend who only takes pictures of nature to post on Instagram. The friend whose daughter's tragic death has sparked a flame in her to build others through her and their own grief and has helped so many other people to cope. The friends whose sweet family is such a beacon of hope that you just wish you could be a fly on the wall to soak up the love you can only imagine is there. The friend whose love for her two adopted sons melts you with every photo she posts or comment she makes. The friend who knows the exact words to say and when to say them, even from oceans away. The friend who finds the time, energy, and effort to post in his blog everyday about something around him that he's inspired by. The friend who goes out of his way to tell me how much my blog means to him. The friend who sent me a simple, yet sweet, gift in the mail just because he thought of me when he saw it. The friend who is making goals with me. The friend who can give the greatest advice and make me double over with laughter all in the same minute.
Inspirations, big and small, from the most precious people in my precious little life.
I've been sitting on a certain subject for a blog post for some time but am just getting around to putting the jumble of thoughts into so many words for cyberspace. When I sat down at the computer today, I wasn't sure where to start, so I decided to catch up on the latest from the blogs I was following. Today, I was inspired by one in particular. I've always loved reading Emily's posts, but this one struck so many chords with me for some reason. I suppose it goes hand-in-hand with where my mind has been for the past little while and even opened my eyes to some broader outlooks on the matter.
Guilt is an issue for me. It's not a difficult task for anyone to make me feel guilty (though, as Mom says, no one can make you feel any way without your consent). Sad as this is, it often propels me to do something, perhaps because I already feel guilty or for fear that I might if I don't do it. Pathetic, huh? I even blame myself frequently and let myself get so down from the guilt of the blame that it's quite a chore to build myself back up.
Who knows where it started? I grew up in a home where I was very loved (maybe a bit picked on by my siblings, but who wasn't?). I learned how to work hard. I learned how to be on time and how to be frugal. I learned how to be creative and make art. I learned how to be relatively independent. I learned how to be kind and sensitive. Grade school is a bit of a blur for me, so it very well could've come from there. Truthfully, though, it's been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember.
Recently, however, since I've started to really hone in on what's happening in my life, I've figured out that the guilt thing is coming from something else entirely, something bigger: proof. Doesn't make much sense, does it? I'll try to explain a little better.
Here's the sad, awful truth. More than the guilt, the one thing that drives me isn't my ambition; it isn't my love for humankind, it isn't my sensitive nature or tender heart, it isn't a positive outlook on things around me.
Nope.
It's trying to prove myself to other people.
My entire life, I have wanted everyone that I come in contact with to think that I am awesome, so I try to do whatever it takes to try to make them think that. I want people to look up to me and admire me. I want people to understand why I get the things that I get, why I'm given the opportunities I'm given. I want people to want to be just like me. I want people to love me. I want everyone to love me. I want people to want to look like me, act like me. I want to be validated. I want people to always want to be around me. I want approval. I want people to approve of me. I want everyone to approve of me. So I tweak myself here and press myself there in order to be that for them.
I suppose part of that comes from the profession I've chosen. I find a show I'm interested in, learn the material, and then walk into a room where I proceed to try to prove to the people in the room that I'm the right fit.
I had an audition back in August with a national touring company. I went in, sang a song I felt good about and was asked to sing something else. After I finished the second song, the director asked me who I saw myself as in the show. I answered him. He said, "Prove it to me tomorrow." A callback! Success! I went home, worked very hard on the material and came back to try to prove it. But... I still wasn't doing something right. "No, no, you're not quite there yet. We'll try again tomorrow." They offered some suggestions, and I went home and got to work. I dyed my hair. I watched makeup tutorials. I wore a super short dress and high heels. I was willing to do whatever it took to prove that I was right. And still, it wasn't working for the director. Several callbacks later, after I ended up literally on my hands and knees cleaning trash off the floor while I sang a song and did a scene, I thought to myself, "What am I doing?!" Eventually, I received an email from the casting director informing me that the show had been cast. She kindly - truly kindly - told me that I just didn't "have that thing" that they were looking for.
When I look back at that, I think of the earliest interaction. "Who do you see yourself as?" I gave him the answer I thought was right for me, but he didn't see that. His vision of the character was completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to his vision rather than mine.
(Let's think about this in real life while we're at it: so-and-so's vision of who I am is completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to so-and-so's vision rather than mine.)
True, part of the profession is putting yourself out there for them to nitpick on. Absolutely. But let's stop and think for a minute: if what you have to offer is what you have to offer, then what else do you have to offer? And what you have to offer is more than enough. True, you can show them more of what you have to offer, but altering yourself to prove yourself worthy of the role or show? That doesn't seem right. Or authentic. Or anything that I signed up for. One of the many wonderful things about theatre is its rawness. Yes, you're playing a character. Yes, you're playing someone you aren't. But if it doesn't come from a place of authenticity, who cares? Perhaps that's why I find it so important as an actress to pinpoint at least one thing I can relate to in the character I'm playing. I want it to be real... even when I'm playing a turtle or a mole.
More than proving myself in my profession, I've found that it rules my personal walk of life. I have tried for a very long time to prove that I am good enough for someone to want to be with me. I have tried numerous times to prove that I am a good friend - the best friend - to so many people. I have tried to prove that I am the most attentive listener. I have tried to prove that I am the funniest. I have tried to prove that I am the quirkiest. And in all of these things and so much more, I have gone out of my way to show it, to prove it.
And when I can't prove it, I'm not enough. I am constantly trying to prove to other people why I'm good enough, pretty enough, loving enough, nurturing enough, kind enough, right enough, strong enough, smart enough, caring enough, perfect enough, thin enough, gentle enough, nice enough, rich enough, funny enough, and on and on and on and on and on.
And really, what it comes down to is that I lose myself - who I really am - in all of that. I lose myself in trying to be someone else for someone else. It's taken over who I am for a long time. And I'm done. I'm done trying to be someone I'm not for other people.
Because you see, who I really am isn't so bad at all. In fact, who I am is awesome. Yeah, I'm awesome.
I am 27 years old, Texas born and raised, with an accent that only comes out around Mom. I stole a Beauty and the Beast band-aid from Walmart when I was 6 years old and thought I was going to go to jail because of it. I wore my dad's safety glasses to school one day in first grade for attention. I became engrossed with Titanic when the movie came out, and it's still in my top five. I graduated 34th in my class, just one person short of the top 10%. I cry a lot, but not as much as I used to. I thought I was going to get married when I was 19 years old and could have. I wear my heart on my sleeve; it's not hard to figure out how I'm feeling about something. I say "I love you" a lot, and I mean it every time, from the very bottom of my heart; that doesn't make it mean any less. I love my eyes. I hate my nose. I love my teeth and my hair. I love my lips. I hate my eyebrows. I love my body. I love that, more often than not, I control how my body feels based on how I treat it. I spend far too much time on my phone; I'm trying to be better about that. I love foreign films and animated movies, but I hate anime. I abhor abbreviations. I love being barefoot. My favorite song when I was little was "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus," and the song still makes me teary anytime I hear it. I know almost nothing about history and science. I know a lot about grammar and math. I want to write a book one day. I love to wear pajamas almost always, but the girly-girl inside of me loves to put on a cute dress and shoes, curl my hair, and put on lots of makeup. I love babies and dogs. I love food... a lot. I make really great desserts (but sometimes they're disastrous). I know how to throw a really good party and how to be an excellent host. Sometimes I judge people too harshly. Sometimes I don't give people the benefit of the doubt that they deserve. Sometimes I think irrationally. Sometimes I let my heart rule my logic. I'm stubborn. If I say I'm going to do something, I will do it. I over-romanticize things. I over-think things.
While I do believe that life is about becoming a better person, I also believe that it's about being a better you, not a better someone else that so-and-so will approve of. I'm happy with the person I am and the person that I'm becoming. I have nothing to hide. I have nothing to prove to anyone. I choose to make the good things that I do be extensions of who I really am. I don't want to lose who I am in order to please someone else because I want to love who I really am, and I know a lot of people who love who I really am, too. I'm not going to beg people to love me. The people worth impressing are the people I don't have to impress. I want to get all the crap out of the way and just give of myself, without seeking approval. (How many ways can I say that?)
So this is it. I'm going to use my energy I would've used trying to please people and gain their approval on becoming a better version of myself instead. I have a feeling that everyone will just approve of that person anyway. But this time, I will, too.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
The One About Past, Present, Future.
In the comfort of the Jeffries home in good ol' Texas, I'm formulating a mental table of what's ahead. It's been 2 1/2 weeks since I left New York. I'm 1 1/2 weeks away from boarding the plane to Los Angeles where I'll be rehearsing for 6 1/2 weeks. I'm just 8 weeks away from stepping foot on Canadian soil in order to embark on the 1st cruise with Holland America's Oosterdam. Then I will be on the seas for 35 weeks, performing on 1-, 7-, 10-, 11-, 12-, 13-, 14-, 20-, 24-, 25-, 28-, 38-, and 39-day cruises to Alaska, Hawaii, Australia, Fiji, New Zealand, and many other islands in the South Pacific that I haven't learned how to pronounce just yet.
My last few weeks in the city were blissfully bittersweet... full of surprises and realizations, hardships and frustrations, excitement, tears, gifts, blessings and appointments, laughter, food, and lots and lots of heartfelt chats. As I left my apartment at 4:15 AM on February 19th (as the cab driver aggressively made his way to the airport - yes, it's a very realistic and honest stereotype they bestow on themselves), I pat myself on the back: one reason being that I had successfully packed up all of my belongings and fit them in the original four suitcases I had arrived with in June, another reason being that I had woken up in time to shower and look presentable (not counting the ever-present bags under my eyes, of course) after only sleeping two hours the night before, and the final (and most important) reason I pat myself on the back was because I had been a resident of New York City for eight and a half months.
While I sat in Terminal B at LaGuardia waiting to board Flight 2242 to Salt Lake City, I wrote a love letter to the place I had called home for the last while.
It read:
My dearest New York,
Early this morning I am leaving you until January of 2015. It's been a very committed eight and a half month relationship we've forged, you and I. You've been there with me when I got my heart broken twice; you were there when I was sick; you've watched me audition for umpteen shows/theatre companies; you saw me perform in numerous bars and cabarets; you've seen me almost book something I wanted desperately; you've seen me book something I needed more; you've made me completely broke; you've made me rich with knowledge; you've introduced me to some lifelong friends; you've made me sweat and freeze; you've made me cry and laugh and scream and fight and giggle and gasp; you let me make children laugh; you've taught me so much; you've shown me what it's really like to be alone; you've uncovered my insecurities and flaws, and in return, you've allowed me to find amazing strengths in myself that I didn't know existed; you've taught me I'm smart and I'm strong; you've given me a new perspective on life in general; you've taught me I know a lot about my career path choice but also that I have so much to learn and so far to go. The "business" can chew you up and spit you back out, and I suppose you could, too, but you haven't, and I'm grateful for that. You've seen me at my highest highs and my lowest lows; I have hated you and loved you in the same minute. It hasn't been easy. In fact, my time with you has been the hardest time of my life. BUT it's also been the most rewarding, learning, special time. As I explore other parts of the world over the next while, I know I will think of you everyday. I will miss you fiercely. I will dream about you, just as I did before I moved onto your grounds (only this time, a little more realistically and a little less romanticized). Even though you haven't made life easy, I am outrageously grateful to you for our time together. You are a beautiful, wonderful, awfully imperfect perfect place for me. I love you, New York. I can't wait to come back to you soon.
Yours always,
Angela
Let me rephrase an earlier statement: I pat myself on the back because I had been a resident of New York City for eight and a half months and am so excited to return when my contract with Holland America is finished. I LOVE NY.
Before I came to visit my family in Texas, I took a pit-stop in Salt Lake City to visit my friends and see them in Les Mis at the Hale. The show was really beautiful. I was deeply moved by the performances and ridiculously proud of/blown away by my talented friends.
Before the curtain rose on the first performance I saw, I was walking from the restroom to my seat, and a very clear thought crossed my mind as I looked around at the lobby and hallways: that chapter of my life was closed and over, and it was very unlikely that I would ever perform there again. It was a very tangible thought, like I could reach out and touch it. It was a strange thing to be so conscious that the place I had known so well just months before was no longer my "home" and that the stage I had memorized, laughed and cried on wasn't "mine" anymore. It surprised me more than anything to recognize that reality. I certainly didn't expect that to happen. I actually expected to ache to be in the show. I expected to hurt that I wasn't backstage in the hubbub and excitement. I expected to never want to leave. But that wasn't the case. I thought of a quote I'd heard in a talk:
I had let go of what was. That was a very defining moment for me and, perhaps, contributed somewhat to the fact that I was a blubbering baby the entire time I was in Utah and especially while I was in that building. It was such a bittersweet feeling! I am so fortunate to have worked and played there. I learned so much in my three and a half years and seven shows there. I love so many people I met there and truly cherish the relationships, lessons, and experiences that beautiful facility offered me. It was a huge part of my life, my "home" and "family" for a long time. I felt very loved and taken care of always. It was always about so much more than one more role on my resume, and I loved that. I wouldn't trade my time there for anything.
Interestingly enough, that moment of realization reared its head many, many times during the rest of my time in Utah with other situations. And truthfully, I didn't know how to handle it. I spent so much wonderful time with so many of my wonderful friends. It hit me over and over, with each of them, that life has gone on without me. Distance had done its duty and damage and made things different with almost every single one of my best friends. I felt like I was grasping to understand and fit into conversations about the latest happenings. I was constantly surprised with new news that I otherwise would've known had I still lived there. I felt like I didn't have much to contribute to group conversations; that never happened before. It just isn't my world anymore. It hurt. I'm not going to lie and say it didn't. It was confusing. It was frustrating. I was mad and sad. In many ways, although I had hoped it wouldn't, I knew it would happen. They were still the same amazing, fun, expressive people I've known for years. They weren't different, and I wasn't different: we were. That's a hard, jagged, mean ol' pill to swallow.
At some point, however, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself in those regards and let be what will be. I had to let go of what was. The fact of the matter is that I would still lie down and die for all of them. Some of the friendships may, in fact, disappear, and that won't be easy - or maybe it will. But as for the majority... we all change and are trying our best to find our place in this world; we move away from each other and don't know every detail. It's not always convenient to reach out, no, but when the tears fall or when we could leap with delight and excitement, I know where those people are and they know where I am. These friendships are important to me, and it's important to me to show that, no matter the distance.
Monday, January 20, 2014
The One with A LOT.
They say honesty is the best policy. As a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, I quite agree with that statement. I hope that I portray that in my day-to-day life, and I hope to portray that in all of my posts here. That being said, the following is a lot - a lot of stuff about me. My hope is that it doesn't appear too self-absorbed. Putting everything to words and writing helps me sort my thoughts and holds me accountable, too.
The past month and a half since I last blogged has been eventful to say the least. I celebrated my 27th birthday, which made me feel like an old cat. I always love looking back at the past year and noting all I've done. I think it's safe to say that Year 26 was the most eventful of them all, and I'm sure I feel that way because of the big move. That being said, I'm beginning to grasp a better understanding of aging in this industry. Thankfully, it's not as brutal as the ballet industry, but the older I get, the more I feel like I'm running out of time. I want to have a decent amount of experience under my belt so that people will take me seriously as I age. It's not that the business doesn't let "old people" be a part of it; it's just always better to start younger, so I feel like an old fart at 27. I didn't really feel that way until I got out here, honestly, because I didn't realize how important it was. No one ever really talked about it before.
Aside from the birthday and feeling old, I went to a few auditions since the beginning of December, one of which was for the Northeast Children's Theatre Company's production of A Year With Frog and Toad. I was cast as one of the five cast members and have been in rehearsals for the past two weeks. I'm playing a bird, turtle, mole, frog, squirrel, and slug. The production performs four shows at the Fairfield Theatre in Fairfield, Connecticut, and then tours to elementary schools in the area. It has been an absolute joy working on this show. I don't think I've ever clicked so quickly with a cast, and I'm certainly being stretched creatively in a way I didn't think I really would be. The music is some of the hardest part-singing I've ever done. It's very high-energy. I literally have nothing like this role on my resume, and I'm very excited to add it. Plus, it's brought back that blissful feeling of rehearsing and looking forward to performing in a show again. There's something magical, too, about booking a job out here. Was it that glamorous job I imagined my first show in New York would be? No, but I am pleasantly surprised and ridiculously thankful for the opportunity. I love how much I've learned and grown from it already.
I performed at a few bars in there somewhere and found myself humbled by one in particular. I'm a very "yes" kind of girl; I'm not really above anything, but from that experience I learned to do my research and learn more about the job before I just say "yes." Fortunately, my friends who attended are the nicest and didn't judge me because of the quality of the event.
I went home for eleven days and spent six of those in a lake house in The Middle of Nowhere, Louisiana. It was perfect. I got to see my entire immediate family - brother and sister-in-law, mom, dad, sister, niece, and the best dog (of course she is part of the family).
We played games, watched movies galore, ate far too much good food and had far too much good conversation. Most of those eleven days were also spent in pajamas, which makes a vacation a vacation, in my personal opinion.
I returned to the city to celebrate New Year's Eve in Times Square. I didn't make it in, so I came home to eat pizza and drink milkshakes while watching Forrest Gump with my wonderful roommate.
Just a few days later, I was officially offered and accepted a contract with Holland America as the female lead singer, or F1, on the Oosterdam. Rehearsals begin March 26th in Los Angeles, and the first cruise sails on May 11th. The first four months are spent in Alaska and the second four months are spent cruising Australia, New Zealand, and the South Pacific. Somewhere in those eight months, we'll also be hitting Hawaii and Fiji. I return to land on January 16, 2015.
Now that you are up-to-date on recent events...
I share that quote above for a number of reasons: one, to give me the courage to do what it says; two, for dramatic effect (of course); and three, to help you understand perhaps what's ahead in this post... basically if dramatic (and a bit of religious and personal) honesty freaks you out, stop here.
Phew. Now that you've been warned... here we go...
I have felt very, very dark in the past couple of months. Without formal diagnosis, but also without a doubt, I have been in a very deep, dark (and seemingly pathetic, I'm sure) depression. Everyday has been such a struggle. On January 2nd, I finally hit a wall of the deepest sadness I think I have ever felt in my entire life. Life felt like a mess and felt all sorts of out of control; I felt alone and abandoned. I sat in my room and let myself lose it for a while. I don't say prayers nearly as much as I probably should, but I prayed harder than ever before while I sat there and cried. I was angry and mad and confused and worried and sick and tired and hurt and just all of it. I didn't know what else to do. I want to be happy. I was begging for happy, searching for it, and I couldn't find it anywhere. So I prayed and cried, cried and prayed, until I couldn't think of anything else to say. It didn't happen right in the moment I ended the prayer, but answers to that prayer started rearing themselves all around me, little by little, coupled with the work I know I have to do to become healthier emotionally and even physically.
Yesterday, I had a thought while I was talking with a friend on the street: I have been fixated on what I have left behind and have been grappling and trying to hold onto relationships that are, undoubtedly, falling away from me because of the distance between us. I have been spending so much time trying to keep them as they were when I left them physically that I don't let myself get to know and love people here. I have been living in New York without living in New York. And I can only reach out so far before I tire of it and hurt, too. Distance does change friendships, and it has immensely. I have stubbornly clawed and scraped and pleaded to hold onto them and keep them exactly the same, but the fact of the matter is, they're changing. This does not mean I am giving less to or ending any one friendship; it just means accepting them for what they are turning into and letting them nestle into the beautiful friendship they can still be in the distance.
After all of that me talk, I am trying to learn how to be less self-absorbed and be a bit more of a grown-up. They say that charity and kindness toward others can also push us to become happier people. If we help in making someone else happy, we can also be happy. I know so many people who need a helping hand or a listening ear, and I don't offer that to them enough. I am so sorry for that and want to change that genuinely.
I have a little more time left in the city before I leave for the cruise rehearsals, a lot of which will be spent travelling and doing A Year With Frog and Toad. I will be returning to the city after my contract, but my hope is that over the next little while before I leave, I can open my eyes to my surroundings and my friends here and re-fall in love with this place I have been in love with for all my life. I also am going to try to live here today and to grow stronger and healthier and make my way back to the happy person I know I can be.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
The One About Neediness and Comparison.
I keep putting off blogging.
I actually have two posts sitting in my drafts that are pretty much complete that I just keep putting off publishing.
I'm afraid that what I have to say may concern or worry those I love, and I don't want that. And I realize that sentence alone may have done just that.
Here's the deal... I want people reading this to know that I AM A HAPPY PERSON. Even right now. Sometimes happy people go through hard times... that does NOT mean they hate their lives or where they are and so on.
I'm in a weird place. There. I said it.
As of four days ago, I have lived in New York for six months. As of four days ago, I have attended 32 auditions. I have performed at six bars/cabarets/competitions. I have been called back for one show. I have scraped by financially. I have paid over $4,200 in rent alone. I have paid over $500 in Metrocard fees. I have continued to pay for my student loans, gym membership, groceries, headshot prints, resumes, classes, sheet music, audition clothes, winter wear, etc. I have felt so lonely that I have fallen apart numerous times. I have considered going back to Utah twice to audition for/submit for shows there.
I have never needed love like I need it here and now. I'm not talking about romance. That's never really been the most important thing in my life. I'm talking about brotherly, rational and irrational, close, unconditional love. I'm talking about love as a force of nature. I've never felt like I'm grappling for it like I am now. I'm almost 27 years old and need to be loved. Everybody needs it, I know. And the truth is, I don't suppose I'm loved any less by my friends and family. I just need it more. I am needy. And I hate that.
This neediness rears its head in many forms: overcompensation, jealousy, anger, sadness, quiet, and so on. At one point, I assumed this was part of depression. I've since gotten past that.
So where did this neediness come from? A lot of things, I think: the difficulty in making friends here, the lack of success I'm having in my craft, the lack of connection I have with people in general. I feel very out of the loop with the rest of the world, but I also feel like I'm right smack in the middle of the chaos of it.
I walk out of my apartment daily and always, at some point, look around and think, "I actually live here," and I'm proud of that fact and happy about it and excited about it. I find new things to see and explore everyday. So what's the problem, Angela?
I think it comes down to this: nothing quite seems to be in my control right now.
My heart literally aches to do a show. ACHES. I even took a train to a community theatre in White Plains to audition for a show there. I didn't care that it would cost me $17 to get there for the auditions/callbacks and each rehearsal. I didn't care that it would leave me practically broke if I was cast. I just wanted to do something that made me feel as wonderful as performing in a show makes me feel.
Basically what I'm getting around to saying is... life is hard. Even more, New York is hard. Literally harder than I could have ever imagined. To those considering the move, I wish there was some way to prepare you for how hard it is. I wish someone could have prepared me for it. I don't really know for sure if it's this hard for everyone, although I can't imagine it wouldn't be. But perhaps how emotional of a person I am is contributing to how difficult all of this seems.
Ask my mom, I am the Queen of Comparison. I don't know where it started, but I've just always, always compared myself to those around me: not just in negative ways, no, but most often, yes. This happens to a lot of people, though, doesn't it? I think it's also something that is very prominent in the performing/theatre arts industry. We compare our work and our successes to those before us or alongside us. It's a very competitive business, so Queen of Comparison here has plenty of like company.
It's gotten just HORRIBLE since I moved out here, and here's why:
I'm not a model. I'm not a "looker." I don't have a memorable face or sharp features that make me stick out. I'm built like an Amazon woman. I have big feet and broad shoulders, a button nose, squinty eyes, big arms, a big noggin, straight eyebrows, and a round face. I was literally told at one audition that I wasn't "pretty enough." There is an incredible fixation on looks in this industry, and I'm just learning how to be okay with it. I have to be okay with it if I'm going to stick with it. And dammit, I'm going to stick with it.
The women that I audition with are not only incredibly talented singers and actors, but they also look like goddesses, Barbies, and beauty queens.
I talked myself out of an audition one morning. Okay, so it's happened every now and then since I've been here. This is how it usually occurs: when my alarm goes off at 5:00 or 6:00 AM, I turn off the piercing noise. I stare at the bright screen on my phone for a while and usually utter out loud, "Oh my gosh," because of how tired I feel. That is then followed by the thought, no one should be up this early. Ever. Then I weigh the audition itself in my mind...
Is it worth my time?
Will they even see me?
Am I right for the role?
Is my song choice good enough?
Do I feel fat?
Am I skinny enough?
Am I pretty enough?
Will they even care?
Will they even look up?
Will there be tons of others there better than me?
This one morning in particular sticks out more than others because it was an audition I'd been looking forward to and preparing for for some time. I even made myself up completely, curled my hair, walked out the door of my apartment, got on the train, trudged those six blocks and walked right up to the building. I had the perfect song and a smile on my face. All before 6:30 AM, too.
But I didn't stop when I got up to the building... nope. I just kept walking... right past every single person already in line. In those short seconds upon approaching the crowd, I did a once-over of all of the ridiculously beautiful women in line and told myself I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of catching anyone's eye in that audition room, and that's if I would even be seen. I went to the gym, signed up for a membership, and went home without looking back. I put my pajamas back on, wiped off all my makeup, put my freshly curled hair in a messy bun on top of my head, and crawled back into bed to sleep the day away.
A lyric from a show comes to mind: "A vampire is any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self-expression."
I am and have been my own personal vampire. Have I been doing the work? Yes. Definitely. But have I ever gone into an audition free of doubt and, instead, full of self-love and belief in myself? Have I ever not looked at or listened to those other women and not thought about running out of the building screaming? No. There have been moments of self-love and believing, but the comparison factor always outweighs those moments.
If you've ever noticed, it doesn't matter how many people you have on your side cheering you on... if you aren't on your side, you can't get past "go." So this all comes full-circle... why am I so needy of love? Because I'm not giving myself the love from myself that I deserve... and so I'm grappling for it from others more than usual.
The human mind wants and almost needs to compare or rank. Our minds naturally want to know where we fit into the scheme of things. So we need to give those crazy minds something to do. I need to give my crazy mind something to do.
I have expressed before my unwillingness to stand stagnant. When I say I'm going to do something, I do it... little by little, perhaps, but eventually, I will do it. I'm not a talker; I'm a doer. We are always becoming more. Older, wiser, more experienced, etc., and who we are today is a direct result of yesterday's experiences, of previous experiences. We are always creating, always expanding, always fulfilling something.
I had this thought today. I don't know if it's possible to train my mind to stop comparing altogether, but perhaps this is a possibility: why not choose to modify the comparison to a former version of myself and keep the comparison within who I am becoming?
Listen, I know it sounds cheesy, but this is real stuff here. Too often we compare ourselves with someone else who we perceive as doing, having, or being more, being better.
And this just leaves us, or at least me, coming up short.
Unless that "someone else" is just myself. Unless I decide to look at who I was yesterday and say, "That's right. I am a better Angela Jeffries today than I was yesterday. And I'm going to be a better Angela Jeffries tomorrow than I am today."
Realistically, I know it's not that easy to stop comparing myself to others. But I feel this is a healthy and good place to start.
This idea allows me to be uplifted by comparison rather than weakened, hurt, or hindered by it. This teaches me to love myself and take care of myself and reflect on myself, rather than look at others and envy, desire or wish for what they have. Instead of submitting to the temptation of comparing myself to the beautiful blonde standing in line who will soon belt her face off, I will ask myself: Am I doing something today that I could not have done five years ago, two years ago, six months ago, one month ago? Have I done things in the past six months that I thought impossible before? Have I stopped engaging in negative behavior that I never thought I could avoid? Am I doing what I said I would do? YES!
In short, am I daily becoming an improved version of myself?
Absolutely.
The only person I should try to be better than is the person I was yesterday. I can handle that. And, as hard as it is out here, I am handling that. I'm handling it better today than I was yesterday, and I'll handle it better tomorrow than I am today.
I actually have two posts sitting in my drafts that are pretty much complete that I just keep putting off publishing.
I'm afraid that what I have to say may concern or worry those I love, and I don't want that. And I realize that sentence alone may have done just that.
Here's the deal... I want people reading this to know that I AM A HAPPY PERSON. Even right now. Sometimes happy people go through hard times... that does NOT mean they hate their lives or where they are and so on.
I'm in a weird place. There. I said it.
As of four days ago, I have lived in New York for six months. As of four days ago, I have attended 32 auditions. I have performed at six bars/cabarets/competitions. I have been called back for one show. I have scraped by financially. I have paid over $4,200 in rent alone. I have paid over $500 in Metrocard fees. I have continued to pay for my student loans, gym membership, groceries, headshot prints, resumes, classes, sheet music, audition clothes, winter wear, etc. I have felt so lonely that I have fallen apart numerous times. I have considered going back to Utah twice to audition for/submit for shows there.
I have never needed love like I need it here and now. I'm not talking about romance. That's never really been the most important thing in my life. I'm talking about brotherly, rational and irrational, close, unconditional love. I'm talking about love as a force of nature. I've never felt like I'm grappling for it like I am now. I'm almost 27 years old and need to be loved. Everybody needs it, I know. And the truth is, I don't suppose I'm loved any less by my friends and family. I just need it more. I am needy. And I hate that.
This neediness rears its head in many forms: overcompensation, jealousy, anger, sadness, quiet, and so on. At one point, I assumed this was part of depression. I've since gotten past that.
So where did this neediness come from? A lot of things, I think: the difficulty in making friends here, the lack of success I'm having in my craft, the lack of connection I have with people in general. I feel very out of the loop with the rest of the world, but I also feel like I'm right smack in the middle of the chaos of it.
I walk out of my apartment daily and always, at some point, look around and think, "I actually live here," and I'm proud of that fact and happy about it and excited about it. I find new things to see and explore everyday. So what's the problem, Angela?
I think it comes down to this: nothing quite seems to be in my control right now.
My heart literally aches to do a show. ACHES. I even took a train to a community theatre in White Plains to audition for a show there. I didn't care that it would cost me $17 to get there for the auditions/callbacks and each rehearsal. I didn't care that it would leave me practically broke if I was cast. I just wanted to do something that made me feel as wonderful as performing in a show makes me feel.
Basically what I'm getting around to saying is... life is hard. Even more, New York is hard. Literally harder than I could have ever imagined. To those considering the move, I wish there was some way to prepare you for how hard it is. I wish someone could have prepared me for it. I don't really know for sure if it's this hard for everyone, although I can't imagine it wouldn't be. But perhaps how emotional of a person I am is contributing to how difficult all of this seems.
Ask my mom, I am the Queen of Comparison. I don't know where it started, but I've just always, always compared myself to those around me: not just in negative ways, no, but most often, yes. This happens to a lot of people, though, doesn't it? I think it's also something that is very prominent in the performing/theatre arts industry. We compare our work and our successes to those before us or alongside us. It's a very competitive business, so Queen of Comparison here has plenty of like company.
It's gotten just HORRIBLE since I moved out here, and here's why:
I'm not a model. I'm not a "looker." I don't have a memorable face or sharp features that make me stick out. I'm built like an Amazon woman. I have big feet and broad shoulders, a button nose, squinty eyes, big arms, a big noggin, straight eyebrows, and a round face. I was literally told at one audition that I wasn't "pretty enough." There is an incredible fixation on looks in this industry, and I'm just learning how to be okay with it. I have to be okay with it if I'm going to stick with it. And dammit, I'm going to stick with it.
The women that I audition with are not only incredibly talented singers and actors, but they also look like goddesses, Barbies, and beauty queens.
I talked myself out of an audition one morning. Okay, so it's happened every now and then since I've been here. This is how it usually occurs: when my alarm goes off at 5:00 or 6:00 AM, I turn off the piercing noise. I stare at the bright screen on my phone for a while and usually utter out loud, "Oh my gosh," because of how tired I feel. That is then followed by the thought, no one should be up this early. Ever. Then I weigh the audition itself in my mind...
Is it worth my time?
Will they even see me?
Am I right for the role?
Is my song choice good enough?
Do I feel fat?
Am I skinny enough?
Am I pretty enough?
Will they even care?
Will they even look up?
Will there be tons of others there better than me?
This one morning in particular sticks out more than others because it was an audition I'd been looking forward to and preparing for for some time. I even made myself up completely, curled my hair, walked out the door of my apartment, got on the train, trudged those six blocks and walked right up to the building. I had the perfect song and a smile on my face. All before 6:30 AM, too.
But I didn't stop when I got up to the building... nope. I just kept walking... right past every single person already in line. In those short seconds upon approaching the crowd, I did a once-over of all of the ridiculously beautiful women in line and told myself I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of catching anyone's eye in that audition room, and that's if I would even be seen. I went to the gym, signed up for a membership, and went home without looking back. I put my pajamas back on, wiped off all my makeup, put my freshly curled hair in a messy bun on top of my head, and crawled back into bed to sleep the day away.
A lyric from a show comes to mind: "A vampire is any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self-expression."
I am and have been my own personal vampire. Have I been doing the work? Yes. Definitely. But have I ever gone into an audition free of doubt and, instead, full of self-love and belief in myself? Have I ever not looked at or listened to those other women and not thought about running out of the building screaming? No. There have been moments of self-love and believing, but the comparison factor always outweighs those moments.
If you've ever noticed, it doesn't matter how many people you have on your side cheering you on... if you aren't on your side, you can't get past "go." So this all comes full-circle... why am I so needy of love? Because I'm not giving myself the love from myself that I deserve... and so I'm grappling for it from others more than usual.
The human mind wants and almost needs to compare or rank. Our minds naturally want to know where we fit into the scheme of things. So we need to give those crazy minds something to do. I need to give my crazy mind something to do.
I have expressed before my unwillingness to stand stagnant. When I say I'm going to do something, I do it... little by little, perhaps, but eventually, I will do it. I'm not a talker; I'm a doer. We are always becoming more. Older, wiser, more experienced, etc., and who we are today is a direct result of yesterday's experiences, of previous experiences. We are always creating, always expanding, always fulfilling something.
I had this thought today. I don't know if it's possible to train my mind to stop comparing altogether, but perhaps this is a possibility: why not choose to modify the comparison to a former version of myself and keep the comparison within who I am becoming?
Listen, I know it sounds cheesy, but this is real stuff here. Too often we compare ourselves with someone else who we perceive as doing, having, or being more, being better.
And this just leaves us, or at least me, coming up short.
Unless that "someone else" is just myself. Unless I decide to look at who I was yesterday and say, "That's right. I am a better Angela Jeffries today than I was yesterday. And I'm going to be a better Angela Jeffries tomorrow than I am today."
Realistically, I know it's not that easy to stop comparing myself to others. But I feel this is a healthy and good place to start.
This idea allows me to be uplifted by comparison rather than weakened, hurt, or hindered by it. This teaches me to love myself and take care of myself and reflect on myself, rather than look at others and envy, desire or wish for what they have. Instead of submitting to the temptation of comparing myself to the beautiful blonde standing in line who will soon belt her face off, I will ask myself: Am I doing something today that I could not have done five years ago, two years ago, six months ago, one month ago? Have I done things in the past six months that I thought impossible before? Have I stopped engaging in negative behavior that I never thought I could avoid? Am I doing what I said I would do? YES!
In short, am I daily becoming an improved version of myself?
Absolutely.
The only person I should try to be better than is the person I was yesterday. I can handle that. And, as hard as it is out here, I am handling that. I'm handling it better today than I was yesterday, and I'll handle it better tomorrow than I am today.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
The One at the Library.
Ever since I was little-bitty, I have been full of emotions. For a long time, the only emotion that really reared its head was tearful or sad. I think I remember sharing once that I cried everyday of my life until I was fourteen years old. I remember very clearly the day that I didn't cry for the first time, and I remember almost crying because I was so happy that I didn't cry that day but then I didn't cry because I wanted it to be the first day that I didn't. (Didja get all that?) I gave my parents a hard time from day one.
Over the years, my emotions have remained strong, but they have taken on many forms, more than just tearful or sad: cheerful, overjoyed, excited, giddy, anxious, nervous, angry, frustrated, glee.
I remember having a conversation back when I was 17 years old with my then boyfriend: "Why do you do this to yourself? You make your life harder because you put your heart out there for anyone to mess with." That comment led to an argument, of course, which led to me crying about it. Maybe he's right, I thought.
I've gotten a million times better over the years with the crying, fortunately, and now I look at my emotional capabilities as a blessing. I will not apologize for feeling things as deeply as I do. It allows me to fully experience things as a completely invested human being. I'm not just talking about crying, you must understand. I'm talking about watching a movie or show or reading a book and feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my chest because I can't wait to see or read or hear what happens next. I'm talking about getting cast in a show in a dream role and feeling like I could take on the world. I'm talking about hearing from or seeing my friends or family and wanting to squeal with glee because I love them so much. I'm talking about those types of things. And I don't think I'm alone in this... right?
Now, I suppose there are some people that are the opposite and who look at their lack of emotionality as a blessing, and that's fine. And occasionally, I wish I weren't as invested as I tend to be. Sometimes, it might be easier or less tiring to just not have to worry about feeling so strongly.
At the beginning of this week, I ventured to this beautiful place.
Yes, this picture is from my iPhone, and YES, it really is that beautiful.
You may have seen this facility - whether it be this room or the building's exterior - featured in such films as The Wiz, Ghostbusters, Sex in the City or The Day After Tomorrow. I have been meaning to head this way for some time now just to see the place and finally did. I've also been meaning to apply for a library card (since I have a NY address), so I did that, too. As the receptionist handed the card to me, she said with a smile, "As a New York resident, your library card is good for three years. Enjoy."
Three years. Holy crap.
Then it dawned on me: it's been over three months that I have lived here. I've said it before and I'll say it again: THAT'S IT?!
I have gone to 21 auditions, whether I've been seen or not. I have moved into my first place, moved out of it, and moved into my new place. I have walked hundreds of miles, I'm sure. I have performed at a bar twice. I have worked and worked. I have played. I have explored. I have eaten. I have worked out. I have sweat bullets. I have trudged through the rain. I have gotten sunburned. I have gained far too much leg-muscle. I have had far too much pizza. I have spotted celebrities. I have gone on dates. I have gone on adventures. I have seen so many shows and concerts. I have started building my website. I have pulled videos for my demo reel. I have made friends. I have climbed thousands of steps. I have ridden hundreds of trains. I have had picnics. I have gone to parties. I have karaoke-d the night away. I have spent a week with my best friend. I have watched sunrises over Manhattan. I have watched the sun set. I have played games. I have had heart-to-hearts. I have missed my Utah friends more than I ever imagined. I have missed my family more. I have been a tour guide. I have pretended to know my way around. I have I have laughed so hard I could cry. I have gotten phone calls informing me that my apartment building caught on fire. I have lived through my apartment catching on fire. I have been misquoted, misunderstood, misjudged. I have cooked. I have cleaned. I have slapped a pigeon. I have learned that cereal can be a food group. I've memorized subway routes and bus schedules. I have watched movies, independently and with friends. I have been followed home, once by an evangelist and once by a creeper. I have explored rooftops. I have watched puppet shows in Central Park. I have stopped to pet hundreds of dogs. I have bawled my eyes out. I have gotten so mad I can't see straight. I have felt lonely. I have felt fulfilled. I have been overwhelmed. I have had the highest highs and the lowest lows in just three months.
You get the point, I'm guessing.
It never seemed like time passed so slowly when I was living anywhere else. It seemed like it just flew by so quickly.
And I think I know why. It's the emotional investment. I realized this as I was walking to the library earlier this week. I am LIVING life fully every single day. This place won't let you do otherwise. To walk across the street can be an adventure, let alone ride a train crosstown. Living life fully can mean a lot of things, I'm learning. It's not just about walking outside and breathing in the cool air and just living optimistically with a big ol' smile plastered on your face. No, it's about just experiencing each day and each second as it is meant to be felt, and that can mean whatever it means to you. Sometimes things can really suck. I mean, that's a fact. But you're going to feel what you feel. And as a friend said to me the other day, "Don't feel bad for being sad. Feel it, nurture yourself, learn something from it, and then when you're ready, be happy."
Did you know that, at an individual-occupant-per-home percentage of 50.6 (with more than three-quarters of that fifty-percent being under the age of 65), Manhattan is the capital of people living alone?
I'd also like to add that it might be the capital of people living lonely. We pass new people on the streets daily and make no connection with them. Customer service is practically non-existent. Cordiality between two people is even hard to come by.
Before I moved here, I didn't understand the lyrics in the age-old song, "New York, New York," sung by Frank Sinatra: "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. It's up to you." But I get it now. I absolutely 100% get it. The loneliness.
I'm not an unsociable person, but I'm not exactly a social butterfly, either. I'm a people-watcher over a talker. I enjoy listening to people rather than talking, but I very much enjoy the company of a good group of people. And I suppose I've made some nice friends here.
But, again, I don't have my closest friends here or my sweet family. I have me. And that's pretty much it. This place is a very "me" place, a very selfish city. I moved here for me, to further my career, so that I could pursue performing. I just never expected the loneliness to be this strong. I find myself living for moments with friends that live here that I knew before I got here. I think the best way that I can explain it is this: I love to just be able to be Angela without having to explain who Angela is. While I do know that I can and am allowed to be myself around people I meet, I just don't like feeling like I have to explain my quirks, weirdness, personality traits, et cetera and so on and so forth and yadda yadda.
So yes, here's the truth: I'm lonely.
Lonely in this mecca of 8.245 million people, and I am feeling it fully. It is making me more grateful to have the friends and family I do, I will say that much, even if they are far away. It's hard to imagine that when my library card expires in three years, I will have a circle of loved ones here that might be just as strong as those far away. Part of it is about finding the balance of being myself and somehow putting myself out there at the same time. It's about allowing myself to make the friends instead of just dwelling on missing the ones that are far from me. It's about, again and again, patience.
Everything about this place is about patience: patience to audition, patience to walk behind tourists in Times Square on the way to work, patience to let friendships grow the way that they are meant to grow and not push them along or aside, even when the patience is running low.
Lonely or not, I still know that I am in the right place. It's a terrible, wonderful city, this New York, and I really don't think I'd have it any other way.
Over the years, my emotions have remained strong, but they have taken on many forms, more than just tearful or sad: cheerful, overjoyed, excited, giddy, anxious, nervous, angry, frustrated, glee.
I remember having a conversation back when I was 17 years old with my then boyfriend: "Why do you do this to yourself? You make your life harder because you put your heart out there for anyone to mess with." That comment led to an argument, of course, which led to me crying about it. Maybe he's right, I thought.
I've gotten a million times better over the years with the crying, fortunately, and now I look at my emotional capabilities as a blessing. I will not apologize for feeling things as deeply as I do. It allows me to fully experience things as a completely invested human being. I'm not just talking about crying, you must understand. I'm talking about watching a movie or show or reading a book and feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my chest because I can't wait to see or read or hear what happens next. I'm talking about getting cast in a show in a dream role and feeling like I could take on the world. I'm talking about hearing from or seeing my friends or family and wanting to squeal with glee because I love them so much. I'm talking about those types of things. And I don't think I'm alone in this... right?
Now, I suppose there are some people that are the opposite and who look at their lack of emotionality as a blessing, and that's fine. And occasionally, I wish I weren't as invested as I tend to be. Sometimes, it might be easier or less tiring to just not have to worry about feeling so strongly.
At the beginning of this week, I ventured to this beautiful place.
You may have seen this facility - whether it be this room or the building's exterior - featured in such films as The Wiz, Ghostbusters, Sex in the City or The Day After Tomorrow. I have been meaning to head this way for some time now just to see the place and finally did. I've also been meaning to apply for a library card (since I have a NY address), so I did that, too. As the receptionist handed the card to me, she said with a smile, "As a New York resident, your library card is good for three years. Enjoy."
Three years. Holy crap.
Then it dawned on me: it's been over three months that I have lived here. I've said it before and I'll say it again: THAT'S IT?!
I have gone to 21 auditions, whether I've been seen or not. I have moved into my first place, moved out of it, and moved into my new place. I have walked hundreds of miles, I'm sure. I have performed at a bar twice. I have worked and worked. I have played. I have explored. I have eaten. I have worked out. I have sweat bullets. I have trudged through the rain. I have gotten sunburned. I have gained far too much leg-muscle. I have had far too much pizza. I have spotted celebrities. I have gone on dates. I have gone on adventures. I have seen so many shows and concerts. I have started building my website. I have pulled videos for my demo reel. I have made friends. I have climbed thousands of steps. I have ridden hundreds of trains. I have had picnics. I have gone to parties. I have karaoke-d the night away. I have spent a week with my best friend. I have watched sunrises over Manhattan. I have watched the sun set. I have played games. I have had heart-to-hearts. I have missed my Utah friends more than I ever imagined. I have missed my family more. I have been a tour guide. I have pretended to know my way around. I have I have laughed so hard I could cry. I have gotten phone calls informing me that my apartment building caught on fire. I have lived through my apartment catching on fire. I have been misquoted, misunderstood, misjudged. I have cooked. I have cleaned. I have slapped a pigeon. I have learned that cereal can be a food group. I've memorized subway routes and bus schedules. I have watched movies, independently and with friends. I have been followed home, once by an evangelist and once by a creeper. I have explored rooftops. I have watched puppet shows in Central Park. I have stopped to pet hundreds of dogs. I have bawled my eyes out. I have gotten so mad I can't see straight. I have felt lonely. I have felt fulfilled. I have been overwhelmed. I have had the highest highs and the lowest lows in just three months.
You get the point, I'm guessing.
It never seemed like time passed so slowly when I was living anywhere else. It seemed like it just flew by so quickly.
And I think I know why. It's the emotional investment. I realized this as I was walking to the library earlier this week. I am LIVING life fully every single day. This place won't let you do otherwise. To walk across the street can be an adventure, let alone ride a train crosstown. Living life fully can mean a lot of things, I'm learning. It's not just about walking outside and breathing in the cool air and just living optimistically with a big ol' smile plastered on your face. No, it's about just experiencing each day and each second as it is meant to be felt, and that can mean whatever it means to you. Sometimes things can really suck. I mean, that's a fact. But you're going to feel what you feel. And as a friend said to me the other day, "Don't feel bad for being sad. Feel it, nurture yourself, learn something from it, and then when you're ready, be happy."
Did you know that, at an individual-occupant-per-home percentage of 50.6 (with more than three-quarters of that fifty-percent being under the age of 65), Manhattan is the capital of people living alone?
I'd also like to add that it might be the capital of people living lonely. We pass new people on the streets daily and make no connection with them. Customer service is practically non-existent. Cordiality between two people is even hard to come by.
Before I moved here, I didn't understand the lyrics in the age-old song, "New York, New York," sung by Frank Sinatra: "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. It's up to you." But I get it now. I absolutely 100% get it. The loneliness.
I'm not an unsociable person, but I'm not exactly a social butterfly, either. I'm a people-watcher over a talker. I enjoy listening to people rather than talking, but I very much enjoy the company of a good group of people. And I suppose I've made some nice friends here.
But, again, I don't have my closest friends here or my sweet family. I have me. And that's pretty much it. This place is a very "me" place, a very selfish city. I moved here for me, to further my career, so that I could pursue performing. I just never expected the loneliness to be this strong. I find myself living for moments with friends that live here that I knew before I got here. I think the best way that I can explain it is this: I love to just be able to be Angela without having to explain who Angela is. While I do know that I can and am allowed to be myself around people I meet, I just don't like feeling like I have to explain my quirks, weirdness, personality traits, et cetera and so on and so forth and yadda yadda.
So yes, here's the truth: I'm lonely.
Lonely in this mecca of 8.245 million people, and I am feeling it fully. It is making me more grateful to have the friends and family I do, I will say that much, even if they are far away. It's hard to imagine that when my library card expires in three years, I will have a circle of loved ones here that might be just as strong as those far away. Part of it is about finding the balance of being myself and somehow putting myself out there at the same time. It's about allowing myself to make the friends instead of just dwelling on missing the ones that are far from me. It's about, again and again, patience.
Everything about this place is about patience: patience to audition, patience to walk behind tourists in Times Square on the way to work, patience to let friendships grow the way that they are meant to grow and not push them along or aside, even when the patience is running low.
Lonely or not, I still know that I am in the right place. It's a terrible, wonderful city, this New York, and I really don't think I'd have it any other way.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
The One About Celine Dion and the YMCA.
One summer when Martha and I were very young, my mom signed us up for
a week of day camp at the YMCA in Waxahachie, Texas. (This camp was
also where I learned what a "Christian" was and that I actually am one,
if that gives you any inkling of how young I really was.) We'd never
been to anything like it before and really had no idea what to expect...
except that it was going to be "so fun," Mom said.
We got official camp t-shirts, new shorts and shoes, and Mom packed our lunches. The night before the camp started, I remember Martha and I twiddling our thumbs all night long. We were so looking forward to YMCA Summer Day Camp. We were going to make new friends and play games and swim and learn new things and eat Lunchables (this was a luxury to us). We were up all night long because we could hardly handle the excitement. I even remember Mom waking up and realizing we were awake as well. She laughed and said, "Did you girls sleep at all?"
That's one of the two times I ever remember that happening.
The only other time was Christmas Eve 1999 when I knew I was going to get Celine Dion's "All the Way... a Decade of Song" CD (Martha spoiled the surprise - sorry, Mom). I had watched Celine's concert featuring the songs on the CD in November and was highly anticipating holding that disc in my hands come Christmas Day. It seemed like ages before the sun rose with enough excuse to wake Roy, Martha, Mom and Dad up. I lived for what the morning held. I needed those late-90's jams.
Of
course I tore away the festive paper and there she was. Celine did not
disappoint (she never did). The agony of those eight hours waiting for
everyone to wake up was totally worth it.
Today, I have officially been in the city for two months. These two months have been a roller coaster of feelings, the highest highs and the lowest lows. And I know I ain't seen nothin' yet.
WARNING: You are about to enter into the Red Zone. The Red Zone isn't happy-go-lucky or even optimistic. I'm not holding anything back. Sometimes hard things happen, and I feel safe sharing it here. But at the end of the Red Zone is optimism. I promise.
A week ago Thursday, I was in the dumps. I feel like, before that day, I'd been able to look at things and keep a fire burning in me because "trials make us stronger" and that "it's all part of the process." But I was so sad, so lonely, so over it. That day, my friend Dalton and I had a short conversation over text. He asked, "How are you?" I said, "I'm in a mood." He said, "Can I call you later?" I said, "Sure."
Just an hour or two later, he did call, but I missed it. (And part of me thinks I was supposed to miss it, because now I have this voicemail saved on my phone that I won't be deleting.) In short, he said this: "I don't want you to be bummed. And maybe this has nothing to do with it, but I feel like I should just remind you about patience... I know you're away from your friends and you miss them, but you have people that love you, and the things that you're starting here, in even just a few months... you're going to look back and be like, 'this happened so fast.' It's gonna be great. Just keep observing and learning on your way there." I listened to it again tonight to quote it, and I grinned because I have one hell of a friend.
I went to sleep late that night and woke up after an hour or so feeling horribly sick. I had cold sweats and was throwing up. So... I was sad, lonely, over it, and sick as a dog. I spent the entire following day in bed, only getting up to use the restroom or force down some crackers and water. I read a little bit. I watched a movie. But most of the day I just sat on my thoughts.
I laid in bed and nitpicked every audition I'd gone to and reasoned with myself why I wasn't called back. I made it all personal. I laid in bed and asked myself if I'm crazy for being here. I laid there and cried. I told myself I wasn't pretty enough or skinny enough or charming enough or talented enough or lucky enough or empowering enough or perky enough or nice enough. I told myself I just wasn't enough and that I didn't deserve it. And I let that idea trickle into every other aspect of my life, too: friendships and relationships, spirituality, dating, you name it.
I also came to the sad conclusion that things weren't exciting me in my life. I wasn't letting myself get excited about auditions anymore because I would either be turned away from the audition entirely or nothing would come of it. I wasn't excited about dating. I wasn't excited to see my friends because my closest friends aren't here. I wasn't excited about work. I wasn't excited about singing because my voice was killing me.
I. Wasn't. Excited. And I have always had something to be excited about. But suddenly, in a day's time, I was indifferent about life.
The truth? It was an absolutely toxic day in the life of Angela Jeffries. The last time I'd had a day like that, truly, was over seven years ago. I've had hard days, sure, but not wallowing days. Not toxic ones.
It's always hard to bounce back from being sick, everyone knows that. This was no exception. Come Saturday, I wasn't throwing up anymore, but I was exhausted, negative, sad, lonely, and still over it. And I still wasn't enough. For anyone or anything.
I remember thinking before I came out here that there might come a time when I would hit a wall. Well, it happened. And I took a few days of beating my head against said wall, but then I was desperate to climb over it.
Last Friday was damaging, but not irreparable. I wallowed for several days. Yesterday, though, I made a conscious decision to smile more, to be more positive, to look up at the buildings, to just be okay with just being, and to cut myself some slack. I also made a very conscious decision to say to myself, corny as this may sound, "You are enough. You will always be enough."
And then the most amazing thing happened: I woke up this morning with a pep in my step that I haven't had since the first day I arrived in New York when I got off that plane. I woke up wanting to seek out every audition I could. I woke up wanting to connect with my friends here. I woke up wanting to explore more. When I woke up this morning, I was better. I am better. I AM EXCITED.
Things here are hard; I've emphasized that before. But I know that there is something just around the corner, though the corner may be months or years or decades or worlds away. I don't know when or what; I can't know... but I am going to just seize the day and stop worrying about it. (I am SUCH a feeler, and I recognize that all of this could just be viewed as cliche hoopla to some... but I'm really not going to worry about that, either.)
Just like those sleepless nights I had when I was younger with day camp and Celine Dion, I am awake in the middle of the night DYING to reach morning and the gift or the fun that is there. It's so close I can taste it, but I have to be patient. My agonizing over the hours spent waiting won't make things move along any faster. In fact, the agonizing might even slow things down.
I'll know that I am enough. I'll take the hard things as they come and relish in what I might learn from them, just like Dalton said. I will allow them to excite me, because whatever "morning" is, (and I expect to experience "morning" and "Celine Dion" and "day camp" over and over again in more things than just performing; I expect it in love, in friendships, in spirituality, in family, in every little thing), I know that the time it takes to get there will be totally worth it.
We got official camp t-shirts, new shorts and shoes, and Mom packed our lunches. The night before the camp started, I remember Martha and I twiddling our thumbs all night long. We were so looking forward to YMCA Summer Day Camp. We were going to make new friends and play games and swim and learn new things and eat Lunchables (this was a luxury to us). We were up all night long because we could hardly handle the excitement. I even remember Mom waking up and realizing we were awake as well. She laughed and said, "Did you girls sleep at all?"
That's one of the two times I ever remember that happening.
The only other time was Christmas Eve 1999 when I knew I was going to get Celine Dion's "All the Way... a Decade of Song" CD (Martha spoiled the surprise - sorry, Mom). I had watched Celine's concert featuring the songs on the CD in November and was highly anticipating holding that disc in my hands come Christmas Day. It seemed like ages before the sun rose with enough excuse to wake Roy, Martha, Mom and Dad up. I lived for what the morning held. I needed those late-90's jams.
Today, I have officially been in the city for two months. These two months have been a roller coaster of feelings, the highest highs and the lowest lows. And I know I ain't seen nothin' yet.
WARNING: You are about to enter into the Red Zone. The Red Zone isn't happy-go-lucky or even optimistic. I'm not holding anything back. Sometimes hard things happen, and I feel safe sharing it here. But at the end of the Red Zone is optimism. I promise.
A week ago Thursday, I was in the dumps. I feel like, before that day, I'd been able to look at things and keep a fire burning in me because "trials make us stronger" and that "it's all part of the process." But I was so sad, so lonely, so over it. That day, my friend Dalton and I had a short conversation over text. He asked, "How are you?" I said, "I'm in a mood." He said, "Can I call you later?" I said, "Sure."
Just an hour or two later, he did call, but I missed it. (And part of me thinks I was supposed to miss it, because now I have this voicemail saved on my phone that I won't be deleting.) In short, he said this: "I don't want you to be bummed. And maybe this has nothing to do with it, but I feel like I should just remind you about patience... I know you're away from your friends and you miss them, but you have people that love you, and the things that you're starting here, in even just a few months... you're going to look back and be like, 'this happened so fast.' It's gonna be great. Just keep observing and learning on your way there." I listened to it again tonight to quote it, and I grinned because I have one hell of a friend.
I went to sleep late that night and woke up after an hour or so feeling horribly sick. I had cold sweats and was throwing up. So... I was sad, lonely, over it, and sick as a dog. I spent the entire following day in bed, only getting up to use the restroom or force down some crackers and water. I read a little bit. I watched a movie. But most of the day I just sat on my thoughts.
I laid in bed and nitpicked every audition I'd gone to and reasoned with myself why I wasn't called back. I made it all personal. I laid in bed and asked myself if I'm crazy for being here. I laid there and cried. I told myself I wasn't pretty enough or skinny enough or charming enough or talented enough or lucky enough or empowering enough or perky enough or nice enough. I told myself I just wasn't enough and that I didn't deserve it. And I let that idea trickle into every other aspect of my life, too: friendships and relationships, spirituality, dating, you name it.
I also came to the sad conclusion that things weren't exciting me in my life. I wasn't letting myself get excited about auditions anymore because I would either be turned away from the audition entirely or nothing would come of it. I wasn't excited about dating. I wasn't excited to see my friends because my closest friends aren't here. I wasn't excited about work. I wasn't excited about singing because my voice was killing me.
I. Wasn't. Excited. And I have always had something to be excited about. But suddenly, in a day's time, I was indifferent about life.
The truth? It was an absolutely toxic day in the life of Angela Jeffries. The last time I'd had a day like that, truly, was over seven years ago. I've had hard days, sure, but not wallowing days. Not toxic ones.
It's always hard to bounce back from being sick, everyone knows that. This was no exception. Come Saturday, I wasn't throwing up anymore, but I was exhausted, negative, sad, lonely, and still over it. And I still wasn't enough. For anyone or anything.
I remember thinking before I came out here that there might come a time when I would hit a wall. Well, it happened. And I took a few days of beating my head against said wall, but then I was desperate to climb over it.
Last Friday was damaging, but not irreparable. I wallowed for several days. Yesterday, though, I made a conscious decision to smile more, to be more positive, to look up at the buildings, to just be okay with just being, and to cut myself some slack. I also made a very conscious decision to say to myself, corny as this may sound, "You are enough. You will always be enough."
And then the most amazing thing happened: I woke up this morning with a pep in my step that I haven't had since the first day I arrived in New York when I got off that plane. I woke up wanting to seek out every audition I could. I woke up wanting to connect with my friends here. I woke up wanting to explore more. When I woke up this morning, I was better. I am better. I AM EXCITED.
Things here are hard; I've emphasized that before. But I know that there is something just around the corner, though the corner may be months or years or decades or worlds away. I don't know when or what; I can't know... but I am going to just seize the day and stop worrying about it. (I am SUCH a feeler, and I recognize that all of this could just be viewed as cliche hoopla to some... but I'm really not going to worry about that, either.)
Just like those sleepless nights I had when I was younger with day camp and Celine Dion, I am awake in the middle of the night DYING to reach morning and the gift or the fun that is there. It's so close I can taste it, but I have to be patient. My agonizing over the hours spent waiting won't make things move along any faster. In fact, the agonizing might even slow things down.
I'll know that I am enough. I'll take the hard things as they come and relish in what I might learn from them, just like Dalton said. I will allow them to excite me, because whatever "morning" is, (and I expect to experience "morning" and "Celine Dion" and "day camp" over and over again in more things than just performing; I expect it in love, in friendships, in spirituality, in family, in every little thing), I know that the time it takes to get there will be totally worth it.
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