Giving Up, Letting Go, Holding On

My brain is full. It's been almost two months since I've written anything here so grab a drink and settle in my friends. There's a lot to go through...

To be honest, I've had a very hard time functioning these past three weeks due to a contract negotiation that I had to do on my own. It was the first time, as a professional singer, that I felt I finally had something worthwhile to offer; that all my prior experiences and my years of paying dues were finally good enough to bring to the bargaining table. But that's also a very scary place to be, especially when you are A) not an Equity member and B) have no one else, like a manager or agent, in your corner, doing the heavy lifting. There is a very fine line between standing up for what you believe you are worth, and shooting yourself in the foot by asking for too much.

This time though, it worked. I negotiated and tried to stand my ground as best I could. While I couldn't get what I originally asked for (Equity membership), I was able to negotiate for better pay. This is the first time in my LIFE that I've been successful. Even after two national tours, people still just say no. Take our offer or we'll find someone else who will do it for cheaper. So I am grateful to this theater. While it may not seem like much to them, the small bump in pay means a lot to me. It is expensive to live in New York...and that's where I'm staying.

The contract wasn't exactly what I expected. I had originally thought that I would be flying down south to Florida for the next two months. Not true. I'm staying here and essentially am "on call" for their production. If the woman I'm understudying gets sick, they'll fly me down on 8-12 hours of notice. So technically, they can call me at 8 AM and I could potentially be in Florida, singing at 8 PM the same night. This is the kind of stuff that I am made for; having sung the role so many times now and traveling on such short notice. It doesn't phase me one bit.

Having my life on hold, however, does.

And that's what it's been the past three weeks. This holding pattern of waiting and praying that they were actually serious when they contacted me. The initial inquiry came in while the show was already in rehearsals. I had no clue whether they would be flying me down the next day or the next week. I still don't know. And I am still waiting on the final paperwork that I need to sign. But as of last Friday, the offer had been completely ironed out, and I confirmed the dates with the theater. We are all now waiting on two signatures, one from them and one from me.

And the stress won't leave my body until I have that piece of paper in my hand. And it's scary. So I'm going to write about the fear and frustration to some degree. It's the only way I know how to cope. But this doesn't always please people. I've had some interesting, and other times discouraging, interactions with people over the past few weeks. Even just last night, as I was surrounded by "friends", one mentioned that I post too much, that "no one cares that you're going to an audition. We all are."

On some small level, he is right. I do tend to post a lot about what I'm doing. It's the only way that I will actually do it. It's been a struggle to get out of bed every morning for the past god knows how many months. So yes, when I actually get out of the apartment to do something, I'm going to talk about it. But there's also a part of him that is very wrong. I have people who care. I have people who like to cheer me on. I have many friends who are not in this business and don't have the faintest idea of what it is really like on a day to day basis. So I share for them as well. For me, it's the whole point of life on this earth; to share our experiences and learn from them in some way. To give love and have patience. To be supportive and kind.

When people aren't quite on the same wavelength, I move them to my "acquaintances" list on Facebook. They generally don't see the day to day minutiae of my life. I've realized however, that my posts as of late haven't been as discerning. I've needed more support than ever before so I've been speaking about it and asking for it from everyone. Which is generally not an easy thing for me to do. I grew up having to be self-sufficient, mentally and emotionally. It was expected of me. I was taught that you don't speak and you don't ask. Being the black sheep I am, I did the exact opposite. And this is where it has landed me today; slightly too open with my thoughts, and constantly terrified of saying and doing the wrong thing.

But I am also very lucky in that respect. I have the most amazing group of people behind me; the ones who are there with a simple "like" to show support or a few small words of encouragement. I am so grateful to each and every one of them. It may sound trite to say, but it truly makes a difference in my life. Sometimes, those little comments are the only thing that get me out of bed in the afternoon.

My birthday this past week was not something that I wanted to celebrate in any big way. Turning 35 last year was hard. What came after was worse; the loss of people. Some passed away. Some disappeared from my life without a word. Some I've tried to let go. We are constantly making connections all over this world. Sometimes we make right friends with wrong people. Sometimes we sleep with wrong people at the right time. Sometimes things were just meant to be. Or not.

And somehow, we just keep going.

As the Beatles song says, "I get by with a little help from my friends." And I'm learning how to ask for it. I may not do it in the exact way I should. I may ask a little too loudly. But at least I am asking. I am not cowering alone in the corner, unable to move. I am not so without hope that I take my own life. I am struggling and trying to deal like every other human being on this planet.

But I still worry that I say too much, that I come off as needy and full of myself. So every time I sit down to this keyboard, I temper myself. How much can I actually say? Who should I actually let into my world? How will my words affect everyone else? Because I know they do. Everyone we come into contact with is impacted in some small way, even if they are not aware of it.

I spent my actual birth day alone for the most part this year. I did things I wanted to do without interruption or other influences; visited my favorite French pastry shop and gorged on the best macarons I've ever had in my life. Spent hours in my favorite bookstore finding books that spoke to me. Had a dinner that only *I* would want on this day (of course it was southern barbecue). Then I did the one thing that truly makes me happy in this city, I listened to my extremely talented friends play at Rockwood Music Hall. It is the only place where I am free to enjoy life, where I can let go of all my worries and be surrounded by a greatness that is indescribable.

After the set finished, we congregated in another part of the bar. I had my time to catch up with everyone. I could finally talk about the details of everything that had been happening in the past few weeks. It was a huge relief. I was finally in my happy place. But as I was leaving, one friend mentioned that I was now his "project"; that he would do what he could to help me make my way. My posts had been so stress-filled in the past few weeks that it was further inducing stress onto him. That is the last thing that I want to do, cause people to worry or complicate their lives in any way, especially people who I hold in such high esteem.

So I am back at the awkward crossroad that is my life; asking for help and dealing with the consequences, forever questioning how far should I let people in. Who to keep and who to let go. And how to hold on to those who are worth holding onto.

So when people leave, I've learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to. Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return.

—The Staying Philosophy, Isa Garcia

So, in closing for tonight my friends, thank you for holding onto me. For taking time. For dealing with my messy self. I know it's a lot to handle at times. But in the end, I promise you, it'll have been worth it.

It's Not You, It's Me...or Maybe It's You

I have two voice mails on my phone that I cannot bring myself to listen to.

One is from a very nice Jimmy John's manager back in Morgantown. I had complained on their website about an extremely shitty meal that had been delivered to my hotel room a few days earlier. I had just gotten off the plane back in New York when my phone simultaneously beeped with a voice mail and another call coming in. Same manager, calling again. While he was extremely nice and apologetic, I just couldn't bring myself to care at that moment. Before the plane had taken off, I got the news that my friend would more than likely be dead by the next morning. I thanked him profusely for calling and trying to set things straight, explaining that I couldn't come back since I had just landed at JFK. A few weeks later, I received a Jimmy John's gift card in the mail. So I know what the voice mail says. I'm so sorry. Can you please come back? We'll make things right.

The second unheard message is from a friend. She had called late at night, as I was crossing the middle of a busy intersection in the Lower East Side, right after a night of music at Rockwood Music Hall, one of the few places in NY where I am completely stress-free and relaxed. I quickly pushed the voice mail button with every intention to listen to it the next day. It's now been ten days. I still haven't listened. It is not that I don't care. I do. I want all my friends to feel supported and happy. But I'm at a point in my life where I have to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else right now. And she is a person who needs tending. Her Facebook wall that night held proof.

This is not something I'm proud of, not being able to be there for my friends. and not being able to reach out and simply tell people that I'm still not able to fully deal with them yet. But I've told this friend more than a few times that when I'm ready to be sociable again, I will reach out. She has ignored every instance, which makes me want to listen to that voice mail even less. I know she means well, but I also just can't. She's not the only one that I've had to put off however.

My patience is at an all-time low. I've stopped replying to people: on the phone, on social media, on email. I didn't even make it a week before I disabled my OkCupid account. One man had messaged me saying he'd like to get to know me. I looked at his profile and how he answered a few questions. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to reply to him or not. I needed some time to think it over. (He was open about owning guns. Plural.) Within two minutes, he emailed again with just a question mark. It was infuriating. I responded saying, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but you have no patience. I hadn't decided whether I was interested. Now, I definitely am NOT. Then I clicked the block button before he even had the chance to reply.

I miss the days of rotary phones and no voice mail. When someone would call, you'd have to speak to a person to leave a message. If you weren't home, then you weren't home. Plain and simple. I remember when my best friend Misti would call trying to find me. My grandmother had learned a few sentence in English for her. Yvonne no home. Yvonne go Publix (pronounced pooblix) or Yvonne go school. It always made us giggle. When I had returned from wherever I had been, my grandmother would tell me in Polish that Misti had called. There wasn't this immediate need for response. People had to be patient. There was no choice.

I've stopped carrying my cellphone with me everywhere I go. I leave it in my bedroom if I'm in the kitchen cooking. Sometimes, I turn it off completely at night. There are only three people that I will (almost always) immediately respond to: my mother, and my best friends Erich and Hillary. But even with them, there are times when I simply can't. The constant rejection of being a singer, writer and trying to find a job have taken their toll. Even Chipotle won't hire me to serve rice and beans.

So it's hard to admit that I'm feeling like a failure, and not capable of human interaction sometimes; Me, the outgoing, friendly, will-do-anything-for-anyone girl who only wants the best for people. But that's where I am in my life right now. Part of me wants to apologize to every human being on the planet for being unavailable; part of me wants to scream just to be left alone. Instead, I take time and pray that people will have the same patience for me that I'm not capable of giving.

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.

All in the Timing

I have stopped counting - for the most part. I no longer know how many years it's been since my last relationship, or how many years since the assault. I no longer count the days till I will see someone again, or how many months it's been since I've gotten laid. The things I track now are more than any man can give me.

Each year on August 31st, I return to the Staten Island Ferry; one of the first things I did when I moved here to New York two years ago. It's become my own small tradition of being. The water brings me peace; the Hudson River's waves are gentler than you'd imagine. I love seeing the outline of the city as we pull away from the dock, and Lady Liberty's facade as we skirt by her. Barges and helicopters. Buildings and bridges. All fusing together on this small corner of the world that is somehow filled with so much.


All my friends who consider themselves New Yorkers have told me that if you can get through the first two years, you'll be fine. Well, I've made it. But fine isn't quite the word I would use. This year's trip to the ferry wasn't a happy one. I expected it be. Maybe I was wrong for that.

I usually find happiness in small things; ferry trips and walking around a part of New York I hadn't yet explored. I couldn't force it today. The clouds hung low over the boat, and the rain came pouring fast. There was one moment though, as I sat on the train where I felt a real smile on my face. I began flipping through the photos on my phone. Two years worth of friendships and traveling; singing and struggle. I have accomplished so much.

Yet I am so on edge. I can feel a constant thrumming in my bones as I walk the lower Manhattan streets. I am on the verge of change. In Company, Larry says to Bobby: "Come on, you're on to something, Bobby. You're on to something." just before his huge epiphany. I'm almost there. I know it. I just don't know what form it's going to come in.



I've come so close so many times this past year. One theater talked about offering me my Equity card. They ended up going with someone else, but that in turn, put me in West Virginia, where I ended up getting exactly what I needed; working with an amazing group of people and being able to play Mary just the way I've always wanted to. I can't tell you how many times I've sent out my headshot and resume to agents over the past month, but one finally bit, and I'll be meeting with her in a few weeks. I've also got a friend here in the city setting me up with someone, and I'm almost, dare I say it, feeling...hopeful? He's tall, cute, and has a decent job. If he ends up being nice, then I'll be sold. I've also got tentative plans for another theater next summer which I'm so out-of-my-mind excited about, but can't discuss yet as the rights haven't been acquired.

I've never been so Bobby baby in all my damn life.

But it's all timing. Everything has to fit in it's own little magical way in order to work. And I must be patient.Which is all I've ever been. I can't tell you how many times I've been told that I still need a few more years before I start getting hired for a certain role. Even at 35, I'm still too young for some of them; Abuela Claudia in In the Heights, Mother Superior in The Sound of Music and my favorite...Joanne in Company. Her cynicism, sexuality, and humor is what I gravitate toward. I can't wait to dig my claws into this someday:



But the cynicism hurts. My hearts been a little too close for comfort these days. The wall I leave up helps get past each disappointment that pops up. And there have been many. But I'm ready in that Bobby, You're on to something kind of way; waiting for my sleep to be ruined by something other than my writing.

...And another hundred people just got off of the train.

Another Day. Another Audition.

If there is one thing that is most important in my life, it is the pursuit for honesty. Honesty in my singing. Honestly in my writing. Honesty in the way I interact with people on a daily basis.

Sometimes though, the person I'm least honest to is myself.

There is one thing I know for sure: I haven't been myself for a while. I caught a glimpse of her while I was in West Virginia, singing in another production of South Pacific; the unadulterated laughter, the nonjudgmental voice telling me that everything was going to be ok, not worrying about whether my silliness would look immature to the people that surrounded me. I danced all night, and didn't care whether my hair looked like a sloppy, sweaty mess as I walked back to the hotel.

There is an undercurrent of common fear I carry on a constant basis now. Did I over-dress for this audition? Everyone else in jeans. Did I choose the wrong song? Yes. I can tell by the look on the casting director's face. Did I say something stupid to the boy in that bar? Maybe I shouldn't have said that one thing. God, do you even remember how to flirt anymore? You need to clean your room. You need to find a job. You need to research. You need to keep auditioning. You need to get off your ass and exercise. You need. You need. You need.

That. Running through my head on a constant loop. It's exhausting.

Looking back, I've realized a pattern in my life. When I'm pushing this hard for the career I want, I usually burn out after two years. Take a wild guess what anniversary is coming up in 9 days. 2 years of living in New York. Wait. Not living. Surviving. Because that's what you do in New York. You survive.

But I want more than that. I want to enjoy my life in this city that wears you down. I want to be able to let loose. I haven't been able to - and that tension is showing up in my auditions now too. My singing is fine, but I haven't been able to connect to my body, my character. I am stiff. I am not able to let go of what is going on in the audition room. And I'm getting the same reaction over and over before I leave: "Beautiful. Thank you so much for coming." Which really means Thanks, but no thanks.

I should be nailing these auditions. A few have been for South Pacific - the one show I know every note of, every nuance of. I tell myself that even at my worst, I'm still better than 90% of everyone else's best. But that's not being honest any more. I am 100% burnt out. And yet I keep pushing myself to keep going.

I told myself I wouldn't give up when I moved here. But now I don't know what to do. I can't keep doing what I am doing right now. It's affecting everything. This month has been especially harsh what with the loss of my friend...but then out of nowhere, there are these small moments - where I've felt something close to happiness for a second or two. I am trying to grasp onto them with both hands, but they just keep slipping away.

But it's in these moments that I remember what it is to be myself; to laugh freely again, to speak with another human being without the pressure of expectation, to actually enjoy music for what simple beauty it brings me. And this is what I need.

I had every intention of telling everyone that I would be taking a hiatus from singing in this post. But I also know that is not true. I can't give up. I am a survivor. I will keep going. But I will definitely be taking a step away for a bit. The stress of the last few months have been a bit much for me to bear. But that's another post for another day. And you know what another day brings...another audition.