All's Well

All continues well.  I can watch theatre without a burbling resentment of the people who got the chance to tell those stories, while I did not.  My next story is on its way, though I don't see it yet.  So I can live and let live.  I can show up with myself in hand to audition, and shrug off the fact that I am not anyone else.

Everyone's still mostly younger and prettier than I am (well, I'm vain enough that I think I'm still marginally pretty, and therefore I beat out the more lumpen and pale ones, but I don't admit that out loud, for fear of being completely wrong), and they are certainly thinner and often have better credits on their resumes, but not a single one of them has my me-ness.  Just me.  I grant you, my me-ness has not been in demand, perhaps, but it's what I've got and no one else has it, and there are days it catches someone's eye and then someone lets me tell a story.

The more I concentrate on my me-ness and on the fact that auditioning is really a great chance to do the thing I love, i.e. sing and act and tell stories, albeit really short ones, the more happy I can be.

And I have a stack of 16 books that I got from the big library downtown.  Ahhh.  I read a whole book tonight, end to end, without skimming!  Actually two - I read a one act play AND a whole book, devoured both with the glee an absorbed reading attains.

So, yes, I am still astonishingly ok.  Again, I thought I would miss the awesome project more.  I loved it, but there are new things to do next instead, even if I don't know what they are yet.

Set your stopwatches, folks.  How long until my internal chemistry betrays my cheer and tips me into some imagined sadness?  Or do I dismiss my own own resources?  Is this mood the delight of living in single-minded pursuit of the next awesome project with no doubt that one will eventually appear  or a result of enough Vitamin D?

Stay tuned, I guess.

Well, this is working out fine

I am a little shocked, and I don't want to jinx it, but everything is going really well.  My show closed, I don't have anything booked, a few other things ended forever, and I am actually pretty chipper.  It's been a good week.  I had the good fortune to book a tiny little commercial - it'll be 15 seconds, and it'll play online and in local movie theatres, so of course it's not an enormous sum of money I'm making.  But it's fun, and I think I'll get a kick out of the end product, and I BOOKED SOMETHING.  I BOOOOOOOKKKKED SOMETHING, HOORAY!!

So it's been a super busy week, and I'm having lots of fun, and every single day this week I get to do something that reminds me I'm an actor.  Not a teacher, an actor.  Auditions, readings, bookings, voiceovers.  I won't get any of it until much much later, but I will earn a nice chunk of money this week from being an actor.  And I'm auditioning for stuff that would pay lots more if I could book it.

It feels great.  I want to stay like this forever.  And in theory, I should be able to keep this going through this summer because a vo/print project I worked on back in Oct/Nov/Dec is being extended through this summer.

And all at a time I thought I'd be depressed.  Thanks, universe.  I'd love a raging success, like booking the next awesome project or becoming the spokeswoman for something, but in the meantime, I am thrilled to be happy with the smaller achievements.  And with sunny weather.

Now, I understand that the person I would say this to will never see this - trust me, I get it, but here it is:

I'm just fine.  My demons and my disappointments are my own, not something done to me.

Byron put it better than me:

"There is that within me which shall tire/ Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire."

Wow.  Maybe I'm turning into a winner after all.  I'd enjoy that.  Come on, universe, I can take it, smile on me.  I won't waste a minute of the joy on offer.

Nuns and Mardi Gras

Today an 80-something year old nun gave me and the rest of an audience an auditory tour of New Orleans at Mardi Gras.  She had white hair pinned under her short wimple and kind, kind eyes, and she said she loves wearing her practical, modern habit because when people see it they know she's there for them, she's there to be of service.  She told us how to get to New Orleans from Chicago:

"Well, you take the Amtrak, it goes right there.  You ride all night, you can sleep through the night, the chairs let you put your head back and your calves up, and my sister and I take food in our baggage, we have our little home right there with us!"  She gestured to her side as if she had an imaginary rolling suitcase alongside her seat.

"When you arrive in New Orleans...well, we head straight for the convent, most of the other people head for their hotels.  But I have to tell you, hotels will charge you twice as much during Mardi Gras, so it's best to have friends there.  Mardi Gras starts about two weeks before the day, when the King of a Crewe takes a bouquet of roses to a young girl of about 18 - that's how she knows she's the Queen of his Crewe.  Then there's a parade every day for two weeks!  Every Crewe has about twelve to thirty-six floats in the parade, and everyone lines the streets to watch, families and everyone.  It's really a family affair.  Everyone always wants their picture taken with the nuns, they say, 'Oh, can we take a picture with you so we can prove that Mardi Gras isn't that bad?'

But of course, in the French Quarter they have some things that Christians probably shouldn't be looking at!"

It made me want to get on the train with her and go to New Orleans immediately.  IMMEDIATELY.  Even though Mardi Gras isn't going on at all.

That sinking feeling

Ok.  The awesome project has closed.  I feel like my stomach is a balloon that just got a tiny puncture, and the air is leaking out, slowly, ever so slowly, but no matter what, the air is seeping out, and deflation is imminent.

Right now, there's just enough air that I'm all right.  I've got a lot to do tomorrow, I'm trying to focus on that.  It'll be a busy week after all, and I might try to go see some theatre, start catching up on talking to friends and exercising and, of course, work.

I don't want it to end.  Of course, I do in a way - I want a new challenge, and new people to meet, and even a few weekends off to go visit people and do something different.  But I don't want working to end, and that's what's hard - I don't have a next show booked, and it feels so tentative, just having to keep auditioning.  Will I ever be one of those people who move from project to project??  There's no way to know.  I have a LOT to learn about my craft before that happens, I'm afraid.  In a way, working shows me my limitations far more than my strengths.  But I want to keep working so I can try to develop beyond my limitations.

I'm not sure I'm making enough sense to keep typing.  I wanted to note some of the awesomeness of the awesome project - that it was a lovely group of people working on a story they could believe in, and that I was so so so lucky to be one of them.  I don't mind that it has to end but I want more experiences like this, and I don't know how long I'll have to wait until the next one.  But I'm so pleased and gratified and grateful to have had this one.

I'm honored.

Easter

Don't miss out on Easter just because it seems like such a mish-mash of bunnies and crucified men and pastels and white shoes again. 

 

Easter is the BEST holiday, and it's easy to miss because it's so multi-layered it's difficult to know what to pay attention to.

 

Taking away what may or may not have actually happened, and remembering that when a story gets retold enough, it reshapes itself into something elemental, something deeply satisfying, we have what is the best fantasy the church has.  (Maybe that should read the "Church".)

 

We have the end of everything good, we have the tragedy of having killed it ourselves, of having taken this amazing prophet who got down in the muck and lived with the murderers and the prostitutes but remained alight with love, we have a mob of people losing themselves to suspicion and hatred and killing their God.

 

Everyone wakes up and realizes that means there's no God left.  No one to make sense of it all, no one to give comfort and clarity, no one to be the bedrock of what is true and decent.  The mooring is gone, the anchor unchained.  We are adrift.  We've killed what is best about ourselves and we have to stay alive without it.  We've snuffed our own candle and what's left is darkness. 

 

So in the midst of the worst possible version of being alive, the being alive with no meaning or joy or laughter, and with our only companion a pain of our own making, we follow these two broken women to a grave.  Or men - it doesn't matter who it is that finds out first.  Because what they find is such a relief.

 

Because what we find out is beyond religion, it's beyond magic, it's beyond our capacity to make up.

 

Life comes back.  We get God back.  We get daffodils and roses and lilys back.  We get babies who look like our dead mothers, we get white dresses and white shoes to start over again with, we get jokes and comrades and sunny days.  We get roads that lead somewhere, we get brand new Ikea furniture, we get blank pages that will soon be filled with something charming and delightful.  We get back the person we destroyed, even if it's ourselves.  It turns out that person was walking along the road with us the whole time, even if we didn't recognize him or her.

 

We get it all back, dancing and laughing and meaning, we get MEANING back. 

 

A light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

 

It doesn't matter if it didn't happen to Jesus.  It's happening right now to the world, because it's spring, and this is one way we can tell ourselves that story.

 

So go buy yourself a daffodil, or a chocolate bunny.  Or eat an egg.  But don't miss out on Easter. 

 

You don't have to believe it for it to be a true story.

Note to self

So, it's been a week of setbacks.  I've overreacted to some things, and underreacted to others, and generally been a mess, as per usual.  (I hope something magical happens to me someday and transforms me into a person who has a handle on things, but somehow I doubt it.  Ah, depression gene, hello again.)

But tonight, at least, I went to do a show at an awesome theatre with a truly lovely cast.  And for at least these last few weeks, I remembered something important: I am still a winner.  Right now, this moment, I get to go do something I love almost every night.  Sure, it's nearly over, and that breaks my heart because I don't have the next project booked.  Of course I'm terrified.  What if I never get to do this again?  When I'm not doing a show, it's like living in exile.

So tonight, I was surprised and pleased to concentrate on the task at hand:  do your job, it's the exact one you wanted.

I got a job I really, really wanted.  And I love doing it.

Now if only, if only, if only....I can get another.