That's Why

I've had a ridiculously difficult time getting myself to do anything this week, let alone sit down and write. Yet here I am in Starbucks, surrounded on all sides by other caffeinated typers and tippers; not quite alone, but most definitely not connecting with anyone either, unless you count my favorite barista, whose friendliness is unflappable. But the niceties only continue for as long as it takes me to answer the question Would you like whip cream on that? (Yes. Always.)

Connection has become a foreign language to me, as if I've forgotten subject-verb agreement, and conjugations leave me wondering whether I've become too self-indulgent when I speak. Trust has become a thing of the past; trust in myself, trust in other people. Will I say too much or too little? Am I allowed to speak up and out? We are responsible for every moment of our lives; every thought, every action has intention behind it. And that's a powerful thing.

And that's exactly what's bothering me...the age-old question of What am I doing with my life?

It's easier to answer this when I'm away singing. I have purpose. I go to rehearsal. I sing. I learn my part and perform. It's the down-times, like now, that lead me to insanely (and repetitively) question my entire existence. That and the sheer amount of shitty auditions I've had in the past few months.

I keep telling myself that I'll take a break, that I won't look at what auditions are coming up or send another email to the theater casting another South Pacific or Les Mis. But I can't help myself. It's a sick, desperate cycle. I haven't had a real contract since July. I keep sending out my resume and going to audition appointments, but I'm not performing well. The singing is fine. My training kicks in and my voice automatically reacts. But the honest intention behind the acting is a sham. So the audition is a bust and I don't get hired. Which puts me back to square one, without a contract and depression wearing me thin. But to get a contract I need to go to auditions so I keep sending out my resume and booking audition appointments...and on and on and on. It just doesn't stop. So the depression gets worse, to the point where I'm left lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I am doing with my life? over and over.

I keep seeing my friends all moving forward, getting multiple gigs, their AEA and SAG cards, other national tours. I'm truly happy and excited for them. But I just keep wondering what I'm doing wrong.

The answer is nothing.
The answer is everything.

I know my time will come. I just have to be patient and persistent. But I also know I need to be better prepared. I didn't even bother trying to memorize a monologue this past week until the very last minute, which ended up being too damn late. I just couldn't bring myself to care enough. So I went in to the audition and read it straight from the paper. Needless to say, I didn't get a callback. I expected that. And so the cycle continues...

But I'm the only one who has any power to make the changes that need to take place.

I keep telling myself that this is all happening for a reason, that I'm supposed to be focusing on something else right now. Writing? Dating? Self-improvement? Finding a day job? Most of it has been blowing up in my face. I was exercising regularly for one week, then nothing the next. One guy that I was going to be set up with went back to his ex, another has just been too unreliable. Being blown off (again) made me so upset that I actually went back and opened up my OkCupid account. Another bad idea.

That leaves me with my writing; here in Starbucks with the rest of the lonely others, all typing our lives away.

When I talk to other people about my writing, I always get compliments and the invariable question of Why don't you write a book? I am thankful for the friends who have this kind of faith in me. But writing an entire book is not an easy task, even for someone who has a masters degree in it. I've tried to focus on my screen play. I've considered going back to my poetry thesis and getting it into actual publishable shape. It's not anywhere close. I've thought about submitting to websites that publish my style of writing, but why would they publish me when then have writers who have been published in the New York Times and HuffPo? 

So I keep coming back to this little corner of the internet that is my own, where there is less pressure and I can almost fully be myself. I've considered starting up a YouTube channel, taking this blog another step forward. But in order to make any decent amount of money you must have thousands, if not millions, of views. And it's not about what you say there. It's all about clicking and commercialization. Which I hate.

So I will stay here in my own little corner of Starbucks, and keep on keepin' on. Something will eventually click and make sense. I will get another gig. I will find a job. I will start dating again. And it will all fall into place, and I will be able to look back and say that's why.