When I was flying back to New York City after two wonderful, fun weeks at home for Christmas, I sat next to a man who really enjoyed talking. It turned out he used to live in my neighborhood, and soon he was telling me all about the best restaurants, and who I need to talk to when I'm looking to rent a new apartment, on and on. The other guy on our row was somewhat in the conversation, but he and I were the real New Yorkers. When the plane landed, I was ready to be back, and feeling good.
The airline lost my bag. As I waited at the baggage carousel, one of my bags showed up. The other did not. I went to the desk and waited forever and the worker wouldn't let my file a report because I had checked in late so technically the bag wasn't lost. I left, and grabbed a taxi. Naturally, he took me the long route home, resulting in an overcharge. The happiness to be back had quickly dissipated.
The next morning I decided to start fresh and go to the movies with my AMC gift card I'd gotten for Christmas. I got to the subway and my debit card was declined so I couldn't buy a metrocard. I jumped the turnstile. I made it to the movie and it was amazing, the kind of movie that reminds me why I want to be an actor. I walked back to the subway and jumped again without thinking, and there were cops waiting on the other side. In hindsight, I should have just turned around and left- I'm sure they wouldn't have chased me- but I didn't, and they gave me a ticket. I rode the subway home in tears. In less than 24 hours, the city had shown me once again that I will not be having an easy time in it, ever. At least the movie was good.
The past two weeks I've had four shifts at work, due to our low sales following Christmas. Thank God, I was asked to be a keyholder, which is a guaranteed thirty hours. It hasn't taken effect yet, though, so I'm poor.
Major things have been happening with The Survivalists, the theater company I've been working on cofounding. We signed a rental agreement with a theater for the first two weeks of June. Tonight we had our very first public event, a reading of a play we've been looking into producing. When we got everybody in there and got the real work going, all the doubts that have plagued me just faded away. I'm sure they'll be back, but for tonight it was all as it should be.
It's good that happened, because otherwise the last 24 hours have been rough. I booked an audition I was really excited about, for an out-of-town production of Les Miserables as Enjolras. They sent me the sides, and they were high, but didn't seem impossible. I scheduled a voice lesson/coaching with a new friend of mine to work on it last night and it... didn't go well. I couldn't sing it. It didn't help that I'd spent the hour before frantically running around trying to print sheet music, which included a completely unsuccessful and infuriating twenty minutes spent in Staples, the bane of my existence. I feel somewhat bad for the voice teacher- I was stressed when I arrived at the lesson, and the more we sang and I realized I couldn't hit the notes, the more psychotic I became. When the lesson was over he tried to give me a pep talk, shocked at how 'defeated' I looked. I was defeated. I HATE not being able to sing anything, but this was an audition that I'd been looking forward to, one of the first ones I'd had in almost a month, and I now had to decide whether I was going or not. I confided this in him, and he had to concede that not going wouldn't be a ridiculous response to how the lesson went. Another train ride home in tears.
After the lesson last night I was supposed to go to a friend's house to watch the Golden Globes, something I've done every year for close to a decade now. The friend cancelled, and we don't have TV capabilities, so no red carpet and awkward celebrity acceptance speeches for me this year. I debated all night whether I would go or not in the morning. A phone call from my mother only increased the uncertainty; she was absolutely in favor of going. She had a good feeling about this one. Furthermore, it was what I was here for: to get up, prepare, and give it my best shot. That's all anybody (including God) could ask for.
I could hardly not go after that. I did all those things. I sang through it at home before I left and hit all the notes. I went, praying to God that I was walking by faith, not fear.
I went in the audition room and cracked on the high notes of both sides. Exactly as I'd feared. Hoo-freaking-ray for going for it.
I know that I can sound pretentious or condescending, but I truly think it is hard for non-performers to understand how frustrating it is to go to an audition and leave knowing you won't even be considered, watching all the others before and after you nail it. All the while knowing in my heart that if just given the chance, I would give them everything I have, I would go above and beyond their expectations. It's almost like losing a bit of your soul every time.
It wasn't the overwhelming emotion that came flooding over me as it had the night before. It was more a sense of coldness, a hardness settling over me as all of the thoughts I try to push away came flooding back. Worst of all, it was a feeling of resignation, that this is what happens to me. I watch as friends book gigs and love their lives, and I sit at home on facebook jealously, trying not to think about anything. More and more I've stopped letting bad auditions and rejections and disappointments in my social life get to me, but it's like a little bit more of my faith dies every time. Late at night, when I let all the bad thoughts in, I lie in bed not knowing who I am, not wanting my life to go on as it does, and not knowing what else to do. These are all of the things that I usually refuse to let myself think about, but sometimes I get tired of not thinking about it. It's real, isn't it? So shouldn't I think about it? Have you ever just wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, not really for any specific reason, but just general protest? Then you understand what I'm feeling a little bit.
The truth is, I don't know what else I would do; I never even considered another career, or really considered that this might not work out. I've spent my entire life building up to being a performer. How can it not happen? They say that you'll book the gigs that you're right for, that ones that you're just what they're looking for. What if I'm never what anyone's looking for? What if no one ever wants me?
I know that happiness is a choice, that I ought to brush it off, move on, find the good things. And frequently I can. I don't concern myself with any of it, and I just keep going, and keep trying. But sometimes it feels like all the effort and optimism in the world isn't enough; I'm just being optimistic to avoid facing reality, you know what I mean. Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to fool myself again.
It's late, and I don't want to think about these things anymore. I want to push them away, go to sleep, and get up tomorrow, numb myself to it all again. That's what I'm going to do. Breathe in, breathe out, and hope that the next breath brings something better (and even more hope that it doesn't bring the flu). I never know whether to write about the more unhappy times like these, however it is the my truth. I have sought my whole life to share myself, and so I am, perhaps hoping, as always, that someone, somewhere will see something worthwhile and notable in it.
And it's got to get better. It's got to. And when it does, I will share that as well.
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