Polygraph

I ran out of things to read on the train the other night, and the only thing I had instead was a journal. (Those of you who know it can insert the Oscar Wilde quote for themselves - it's Make Your Own Allusion Day here at t&t) I keep an exceedingly fitful journal, sometimes months or even years pass with nothing making it onto a page.

The bit I read the other night started in April of 2004, and so much has shifted since then. But here's the strange thing - it's like opening a series of Russian dolls, as I move farther along, I discover the things that I seek, and yet the real need is just beyond that discovery. Or maybe it's more like Super Mario Bros. - when you master a level, there's a new level just beyond that, with completely new quirks and secrets and skills to gain.

In keeping with the simile, I have jumped up to a new level, and there is hardly time to celebrate without realizing that this level has a brand new set of issues and goals. It's exciting, though, because in making discernible progress, I suddenly feel all goals are achievable with time.

What makes me Miss Pollyanna all of a sudden? In the midst of realizing I don't want an acting career at the expense of having a family I care about (and I use the definition of family loosely - pets, boyfriends, friends, stray relatives, etc.), I booked my first national voice over commercial and was asked to be in a show in the fall without an audition, strictly on the merit of my recent performance. I feel...and I hesitate to call it this, because pride goeth before a fall...I feel...successful. It's euphoric.

Success is in the eye of the beholder, and I have a lot farther to go, but this is still a big step forward for me. I'd love to make more of my money from commercial work. You have to start somewhere and I have finally started.

That's how I described it yesterday. I can start living the next part of my life, the part where I am doing more of what I want and less of what I don't want.

Acting is a strange business, and there is no job security, so I may book this and then go straight back to obscurity - that's possible. But I feel the power of what I can do, and I believe I have enough work ethic to get more work. I'm not sure I'll ever win a Tony but I hope to be a dependable actor, a journeyman.

So I read my journal from April 2004. A lot of the things I longed for then are now part of my life. Time to set up a whole new set of goals. And this time, I know achieving them is a matter of time, not talent.