So far,

So good.  I’ve set some small goals for myself and have managed to stick to them. Situps and pushups each day. Painting each day.  Just added “exfoliate” each day. I know that may seem silly, but it helps me to feel better when I look in the mirror.

I’m REALLY pleased with my painting efforts.  Not that I’m creating masterpieces, but that I’m actually just painting.  I have a tendency to avoid trying things I have not fully mastered, at least in the creative fields.  If that makes any sense.  Like I expect to be a full-blown master at something the first time I try it.

This is not the case with less creative endeavors, like I’d find in the safe confines of cubicle hell.  It took me a while, but I eventually became quite confident in my abilities as an administrative assistant, even though I loathed the job. I came to understand that I was viewed by my co-workers as one of the best, if not the best, admins in the office.  I had a professional demeanor and was technically much more than proficient.  This was due to my natural curiosity, and unwillingness to let a challenge go.  If I didn’t know how to do something on the computer, I figured out how.  I ended up sometimes irritated with others who would come to me for help, having not even bothered to hit the F1 key first, which is how *I* initially learned. Google is for everyone, people.

I suppose it’s ridiculous to not approach art the same way.  I would have been mortified to be so lazy as to give up the first time I tried, and failed, to accomplish something on the computer as part of my job. It was a point of pride to me to teach myself.  So why am I so impatient about my art? Maybe I’m hung up on the notion of, you either have talent or you don’t, as if every painter I admire just picked up a brush one day and ‘BAM’, “In Blue” is born.  It takes time, and I’ll never get better if I don’t work at it.

In Blue, by Wassily Kandinsky

In Blue, by Wassily Kandinsky

Waiting, by Audra Arr

 

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Our own worst enemies

Yes, I live. And I’ve had a dozen posts drafted in my head, and have yet to put “pen to paper” on any of them, until now. I’m writing now because of our own absurdity. I’m at home with my daughter and husband. We’re cleaning up different rooms of the house. I’m wandering around, putting things away, and a thought occurs to me, something that immediately casts a shadow over my day, and eats away at me. What is this thought? I have no freakin’ clue. I had it, it made me feel bad, then it left my brain. The feeling is still there, however, compounded by that “why can’t I remember” feeling. Then the little voice in my head, the reasonable, well-balanced, easy-going self I aspire to be more often voice says to me, “how are you going to justify letting a dark cloud of thought hang over your head when whatever it is that brought that cloud over you isn’t important enough for you to remember 5 minutes later”?

Seriously, I consciously have nothing to feel bad about. My husband and daughter are healthy and happy, my brother is doing well, everyone else I love seems to be fine, the bills are getting paid, we’re making progress on the house, I am doing very well at work and I appear to have finally licked my sugar addiction after a 5 day sugar purge. Oh, and August 28th was my seven year “birthday”, i.e., sobriety anniversary.

Of course, life isn’t perfect.  For whom is it?  But, all in all, things are okay.  So why is it we, and I say we because I couldn’t POSSIBLY be the only person who does this, seem to LOOK for things to feel bad about?  It’s like there’s a bird that flies around, pooping on our heads, and when it doesn’t, we go looking for it?

That reminds me of something my friend Christine said to me years ago.  Something along the lines of, “a negative/bad thought is like a bird flying over us…we may not be able to stop the bird from flying overhead, but we sure can keep it from building a nest on our head”.

Go away, birdie…I don’t need another pet.

Resentment, thy name is….

I am finding I’m having a tough time dealing with some people’s success. I’ve become bitter and resentful, particularly when I perceive that someone whose path has been clear their whole life has the gall to tell anyone how they, too, can be successful or otherwise tell them how to live.

Shut the hell up.

I get annoyed on several levels.  First, there’s the person who’s never lacked anything a day in their life who has the nerve to criticize others for not being able to completely overcome their shortcomings.  Case in point….I once worked with a man, someone I considered a friend, almost like a brother, who went on a rant one day because some woman had made the news because her son had been killed in the crossfire of a drive by shooting in her neighborhood.  My co-worker didn’t want to hear of her sorrow…”why didn’t she just move, if she’s in such a bad neighborhood?”  Well, gee, member of the most privileged race and gender whose toe has never dipped below upper middle class, maybe you have the money to physically move your family and pay for a more expensive apartment in a safer neighborhood after coughing up a security deposit and first and last months’ rent, but this woman, obviously, didn’t.  Truthfully, I didn’t know her situation, I was just so irritated that this man couldn’t see past his own experience.  “I’d move, why didn’t she?”

I worked with another person, a woman who was NEVER my friend, who also was completely out of touch with anyone else’s problems.  Zero empathy.  Rich parents, still married, no major problems, illnesses, crimes, etc. that affected her family.  I lost track of the “let them eat cake” comments that she made. She married a wealthy man, and when she had their first child, was able to become a stay at home mom.  A spoiled, shallow woman who no longer had to work in a cubicle and more than likely hired someone to take care of her children.  Puke.

Then there’s the youth, someone whose got the energy and the drive and the opportunities, living in the time that we do, to do far more with their lives than I could have even had I not been forced to perform oral sex on my babysitter at age 6.  Even if all those years of abuse had not happened, when I was in my early 20’s, no one was making their living doing half the cool things kids are able to work at now.  There are kids making a living off of posting videos on YouTube, for pete’s sake.

Lastly, there’s the broken ones, the misfits like me, who are open about their pain, their losses, their mental health issues, etc. These are the ones I least begrudge their successes, but they are painful to watch. Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess, whom I’ve mentioned before, is  screamingly funny. She lives in Texas with her husband and daughter and makes a living as a writer. Her first book has just been released. And she suffers from depression, anxiety, and admits to self-harming. And I literally feel a pain in my stomach when I read about her accomplishments. Her book is on the New York Times’ bestseller’s list. She appeared on CNN. She made a short with  Wil Wheaton and Jeri Ryan. She’s awesome. And I think I hate her.

This may seem like a non-sequitur, but I read an interesting article on victims in our society.  It pointed out how hurtful it is to go to the politically correct extreme of never blaming the victim.  That’s not to say there aren’t some people who truly meet the definition of 100% blameless victim.  Children usually fall into that category. But smokers who develop lung cancer?  Many have cried “victim” and sued the tobacco companies.  As loathsome as “Big Tobacco” is, do these people hold no responsibility themselves?  What about the chances we take?  What about people who go out and get drunk and do dumbass things.  They drive and get themselves and their passenger killed, like Jackass star Ryan Dunn did.  I read of so many people acting as though this was a “tragic accident” and “poor Ryan”.  He was driving over 100 miles an hour, drunk.  He not only killed himself, but his passenger.  He paid the ultimate price for his stupidity, as did his friend who was stupid to get in the car with him, but his loved ones continue to pay.

And, don’t hate me on this, but the whole Natalee Holloway thing pisses me off.  Yeah, it sucks that she was murdered, but for an underage girl to go out drinking and get in a car with boys she barely knew in a foreign country….it boggles the mind.  And it happens all the time.  This article I read describes this kind of victim as such:

Victims With Minor Guilt: This category includes victims who with some thought, planning, awareness, information, or consciousness could have expected danger and avoided or minimized the harm to themselves… choosing to get drunk (the minor responsibility is for electing to be completely helpless and unconscious, at the full mercy of others, in a situation that has the potential to be dangerous).”

Another part that stood out to me…

“alleviating all women or any victim from any and all responsibility to predict, prevent, or even unconsciously invite abuse, is to reduce them to helpless, incapable creatures, and in fact, re-victimizes them.”

So, now is when we get to the point. When I was six, I was a victim. 100% innocent. My abuse continued until we moved to Texas, when I was nine.  Then my brother started bullying me.  I’d get smacked and pushed around at the drop of a hat.  I remember getting backhanded if I was in the passenger seat and he couldn’t see past me when looking to the right when he was driving me to school. Not, “can you please lean back a little?”, just SMACK.  By that time I had had enough of this abuse crap, and went to my parents for help.  My brother proclaimed his innocence, and my parents accused me of being a liar.  For years my mother accused me of hating him and just trying to get him in trouble.  I admit, I did grow to hate him.  But then, when Josh died, I laid that hate down at my brother’s feet and told him I didn’t want it anymore.  He wasn’t worth the effort.  To my shock, he apologized.  He admitted he knew he had been awful, and was truly sorry.  On that day, I got my big brother back.  Since then, though there’s been times we’ve ticked each other off, we’ve built a relationship that I cherish.  He’s the only person in my life who’s hurt me who has actually admitted to it and apologized for it.

But, I have to admit, I’ve let the abuse I received as a child serve as the pedestal from which I’ve ALLOWED myself to be a victim.  Will stood me up in high school.  Poor me.  I got involved with a schizophrenic drug addict who (gasp!) killed himself.  I’ve let a good part of my youth slip away without ever taking the risks required to do any of the grand things I’d hoped I’d do.  I crawled into a bottle of Jim Beam, gained weight and went dateless for 7 years.  I had the power to change, avoid, or overcome any of these problems/issues.  And I’ve often told myself that I have, in fact, overcome them.  But that’s a lie.

Hubs and I were talking today about me pursuing one of the many crowdfunding opportunities available these days.  I posed the question, “what would I ask for funding for?”

Husband: Your repurposing stuff.  Your business.  Arr Bazaar.

I got irritated.

Me: What would I do with any money I raised?

Husband: Advertise your stuff.

Me: I’ve gone down that road before, remember?  When I tried to sell jewelry.

Husband: But this is different.

Me: Yes, but it’s still ME trying.

And then I turned on the tv and saw this kid, this “photography student”, advertising a smart phone by demonstrating the awesomeness of the pictures he took with it while skydiving.  And I hated him.

In not entirely unrelated news, I’m able to see my shrink on a weekly basis, at least for a while.  The psychological equivalent, hopefully, of having my name legally changed from “poor me” to “kick ass self”.

Zazzle-Etsy-Spoonflower-Blah

I’ve tried selling things on Etsy, Zazzle, Spoonflower, and on my own websites.  I’ve even done eBay. My efforts have been met with limited success.  I keep plugging away, and have a fantasy of one day being able to make enough money to at least support my hobby, though I’d much rather be able to quit my day job.

Today, someone I follow on Twitter posted about having made her 1,000th sale on Etsy.  I congratulated her, then slowly felt my mood sink.

It’s so damn hard to keep trying and trying and trying when no one appears to take an interest.  I’ve gone through highly productive phases when I’m adding dozens of products a day to the various sites, and been able to keep my energy up in order to promote my items.  Then, when nothing happens, my mood drops, as it has tonight, and I lose all enthusiasm, for selling, for promoting, but, most importantly, for creating.

Though I’m also an artist, lately my passion has been about repurposing the many, MANY items people leave in the alley behind my house.  It’s fun to me to find a new use for drawers, doors, and especially the bottles my friends and co-workers bring me.  It just sucks to get so excited about something I’ve done, like an actor who’s just given what they believe to be a breakthrough performance…only to be met by the sounds of crickets.

My love of being creative will win me over again, and I’ll resume painting, drawing, designing, etc. at some point.  And I don’t mean to sound like I’m whining.  Yes, there are so many more important things and great suffering going on in the world.  But we all want our efforts to be appreciated.

So tonight, blah.

Fatty say what?

Grandma was a big woman.

Maybe 5’8 or so, and heavy.  My mother followed in her mother’s footsteps, and has struggled with her weight her whole life.  I, however, did not.  I’ve been 5’10” since 5th grade.  I hated it.  Boys tend not to like to have to look UP to a girl.  I remember in high school, I weighed 135 pounds.  For some inexplicable reason, I distinctly recall thinking I was fat.  I was mental.

My weight slowly crept up over the years.  I was 16 when I gained 15 pounds on a visit to my dad in Ohio.  The boy I had had a crush on for 3 years did something to break my heart….something I would let him do many times over the years. My response was to sit on my dad’s couch eating cheetos and other junk.  Still, thanks to my tall frame, I still looked good at 150.  I was close to the top of the range for a “healthy weight” by medical standards.  By the time I graduated, I was about 25 pounds above that range.

Then came college, and “The Freshman Ten”, only in my case, it was “The Freshman 25”.  One of the reasons I gained the weight was my new boyfriend.  He had inherited some money, so there was no longer a financial impediment to my eating out all the time.  My mom was sending me some money each month but, to be honest, it was impossible to live on.  I don’t remember all my expenses, I just recall having the skimpiest of grocery budgets before Mr. Would Be Ex-Husband came along.  I hit 200, and hovered there for many years.

Okay, I know, 200 is a scary number.  But I’ve come to realize most people, particularly skinny people, have no freakin’ clue what 200 pounds looks like on a 5’10’ woman.  From the comments I’ve heard, most people don’t take into account someone’s height when they comment on someone’s weight.  I’ve heard people talk about 150 pounds being fat.  Yes, on a 5’4” frame, that’s overweight, but not on a tall woman.  But somehow, our supermodel obsessed culture latches on to a number and clings to it, regardless of logic or reason.  On me, 200 pounds was *okay*.  I was a little curvier, but still looked pretty good.

Fast forward to Oklahoma ’95, and Josh’s death.  Jim Beam became my new lover, and after about 3 months of serious depression, drinking, grief and drinking, I saw a photograph of myself.  I was shocked.  I truly was ignorant to how big I had become.  I think I had hit 260.  At some point, I joined Weight Watchers . I’d get something like 30 points a day to eat with, and use at least 5 or 6 points each day to drink with.  Every Sunday I’d take my “banked” points to Taco Bell and have a treat.  I walked every day.  I lost 60 pounds.

Then I moved to California.  I only knew my brother.  I was lonely and scared, so 20 pounds came back to keep me company.  I didn’t want to get super heavy again, so I lost the 20 as soon as I could.  But this was California, not Texas.  5’10”, 200 pounds may fly in Texas and Oklahoma, but not in California.  They say only 5% of the population looks like the women in the movies look…well that whole 5% lives in LA County.  I was invisible.

A year after moving to SoCal, I was helping some friends move.  A recurrent minor pain I’d had in my back for years suddenly became excruciating.  After some x-rays, it was determined I had “degenerative disk disease”.  In other words, I had ruptured a disk, and the gel was slowly leaking out.  I was sent to physical therapy to strengthen my back and unkink my legs, for I had been walking around with shooting pain down my right leg for so long, it messed with my muscles.  To this day, I have Popeye calves.  During this nine month period, I was unable to exercise.  I wasn’t even able to stand up straight.  I’d manage to come in to work, but by the end of the day, I was in so much pain, I’d just go home and lie in bed all evening.  There was no way I could stand to cook. I mean, I literally could not stand up long enough to cook.  So me and the fast food drive-thru became best buds.  And I ballooned up to 275 pounds.

Despite my heavy drinking, I managed to get back down to the 230’s by the time I met my future husband.  From the day he first saw me almost 10 years ago, he thought I was gorgeous.  Here was this young man, 11 years my junior, handsome and thin, and he thought I was sexy.  What the hell was wrong with him?

My weight yo-yo’d for a while.  Up to 275, then down to 250, then, post-pregnancy, up to 284.  I’m now 241 and losing, slowly.  REALLY SLOWLY.  But that’s okay.  The slower it takes, the better my body can adjust.

I don’t believe in diets.  I’ve seen my mom go on a diet and lose tons of weight, but because the diet wasn’t meant to be lived on forever, once she’d go off, she’d balloon back up.  What *I* need to learn is moderation…to not binge on baked goods when I get tense, bored, or upset.  I also need to figure out a way to get more exercise.  When I lost 60 pounds, I was 15 years younger than I am now, and my energy was far better.  Now I make it a point to take the stairs to the 6th floor of my office, but that’s the only regular exercise I’ve been getting.  Before I fell back into the 20 foot hole, hubs and I were working out with weights three times a week at least.  Must resume that.

As I’ve mentioned before, I work in the insurance industry.  On the one hand, I find it absolutely infuriating that most insurance carriers won’t provide coverage for weight loss assistance (or smoking cessation programs), but will instead cover the diseases and conditions that result from obesity (and smoking).  On the other hand, these are complex issues that can’t be easily fixed with a pill or procedure.  So many (skinny) people think it’s just a matter of will power, but they have no freakin’ clue.

When you put on weight, your body changes, and not just how it fits into jeans.  Your body CHEMISTRY changes.  In our society, it’s all about quick and easy, but when your body drops weight that quickly, guess what?  Starvation mode!  If you don’t change the way you eat, you’ll put every pound back on and more, because your body will “hoard” the food you deprived it of.  Even your brain chemistry changes in response to your food intake.

And let’s talk honestly about the psychological factor. Being fat sucks ass.  It’s still socially acceptable to make fun of fat people.  Fat people are assumed to be lazy, weak, and/or stupid.  Women cut men all sorts of slack in the appearance department (Jason Statham, Patrick Stewart, Sean Connery…every damn one of them balding but still desirable to most women I know), but a woman who’s more than a size 2 is invisible, at least in LA.  In my single days I joked that men in LA have these anorexic playboy bunny cutouts for pupils.  Any woman who doesn’t fit within that shape aren’t seen at all.  Remember, when I first moved to California, I was 200 pounds.  I carried it well, and got a little bit of attention from men, which got proportionately smaller as my waistline got bigger.

I can remember getting upset listening to my co-workers on several occasions getting together to discuss who they could set (skinny) Jane or Brenda up with.  I was available and interested, but it never occurred to them to try to fix me up…they just couldn’t think of who would be interested in the fatty.  Actually, it’s good that that happened so frequently.  It caused me to complain to a friend about it who, two weeks later, introduced me to the man who would become my husband.

There’s a negativity associated with eating “fun” foods.  A chocolate fudge cake may be described as “sinful”.  Someone indulging in a treat will describe themselves as “being bad”.  Cheesecake is “decadent”.

So what happens when someone tries and tries to accomplish something, but fails, and society at large tells them they are weak and lazy for failing?  What is the response to loneliness and rejection?  How do you feel when you feel invisible?  You might feel like getting drunk.  And when you can no longer get drunk, you feel like eating, since food is the only thing you can really count on.  You know that Krispy Crème donut will be good.  Butter Pecan ice cream can’t reject you.  Carrot cake doesn’t care how fat you are.

When you have a problem with alcohol, drugs, or smoking, you can quit those things and survive, better than before.  But you cannot quit food.  And depriving yourself of everything tasty is not sustainable. I’m not trying to make excuses.  I know I’m ultimately responsible for what I put in my mouth.  I just feel like I’m caught in a catch 22.  I’ve got PCOS, so that makes it easier for me to pack on the pounds (not to mention a genetic predisposition to doing same), I’ve developed sleep apnea, so I don’t sleep well at all, contributing to my low energy (and excess weight), which largely prevents me from exercising, which would allow me to drop more weight, probably lose the sleep apnea, and have more energy.  Wait, wha?  I know, if losing weight were easy, everyone would be thin.  There are a lot of factors going on here, biologically and  psychologically.

So the next time you see someone who’s a few pounds overweight…or even many, many pounds overweight…try not to judge them.  It’s not necessary to try to shame them (“are you sure you should be eating that?”) or make fun of them.  Everyone has their problems.  Everyone has their imperfections.

I have to lose weight, for my physical and mental health, and so I can be a better wife and mother.  And I will, eventually, gradually.  But those in our society who are cruel to the overweight…how hard will that be to shed?

In other words, I can lose weight, but can they stop being assholes?

Corruption everywhere

My favorite TV show is Leverage on TNT.  Just so good.

There’s a scene in the second episode of season one (The Homecoming Job) that includes this exchange:

Sophie Devereaux: [pretending to be a defense contractor] My company’s focused on meeting Senators, but, um, I’m thinking Congressmen.
Charles Dufort: You know the great thing about Congressmen? 50, 100 grand well spent will get one elected. But then, once they’re in, the incumbency rate is over 95%! So you can get on an average 18, 20 years use out of one of them. In these uncertain times, buying a United States Congressman is one of the best investments a corporation can make!
Alec Hardison: [listening in on surveillance] Oh, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. I’m a professional criminal and I find that disturbing.

With all that’s going on in politics these days, it’s hard not to think those words are true.  In California, there are people railing on and on about how Democrats are beholden to the unions that put them in office.  On the other side of the aisle are complaints that Republicans are in the back pocket of Big Business.  We’ve got a city, the City of Bell, that’s going through a major upheaval due to the corruption of its’ city council members.  For those that don’t know, the city administrator paid himself around $442,000, more than the president of the united states, to administer a town with less than 37,000 people in it.  And we’re not talking about Beverly Hills (34,000), we’re talking blue collar to the core.   It’s so disgusting.

I’ve read of outrage that President Obama puts his feet up on the resolute desk.  “How could he!  So disrespectful!”  These are people who seethe at the thought of liberals.  Those same people have nothing to say when shown photographs of George W. Bush doing the same.  I see it all the time….democratic voters complaining about a republican politician engaging in the EXACT SAME BEHAVIOR as the democrats, and vice versa.  People only define certain behavior as “bad” when the person they DON’T support politically engages in them.  How many republicans seethed over Clinton?  What did they have to say about Newt?

People are corrupt.  Wait, I’ll quote another movie…that Tommy Lee Jones/Will Smith classic, Men In Black.

Edwards: Why the big secret? People are smart. They can handle it.
Kay: A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it

A person, maybe you, may not be corrupt, but people are.  Think about how much money our politicians make?  There’s been a big story lately about politicians on both side of the aisle engaging in what is essentially insider trading, stuff that will get you and I arrested, but they are allowed to profit off the information they receive as leaders of our government.  They are supposed to service us.

I see it in my job. Clients and prospects sometimes ask us to break the rules, sometimes the law, to help them.  We tell them “no”, and have even “fired” clients who persist, but what always gets me is the fact that these same people would PITCH A FIT if a carrier tried to break the rules/the law and it hurt our client.  I’ve seen carriers behave in obviously greedy ways, demanding a larger increase in rates than is warranted, but I’ve also seen prospects expect to get insurance that they previously hadn’t wanted to pay for but now insist they should be allowed to buy because suddenly they’ve broken their leg and need rehab.

Think of insurance as a pool of water.  The people in the village (those insured by carrier A) all put a little bit of their water in the pool, and it’s there for them should they ever experience a drought.  But there’s a handful of people who don’t want to contribute.  They want to keep their water to themselves.  Then suddenly their pipes burst.  Now they think they’re entitled to drain the pool even though they’ve put nothing into it, leaving everyone else who sacrificed their water to stare at an empty pool.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think your health should be determined by the amount of money in your bank account, but with the system we live in, that’s how it works.  We’re in love with capitalism and it invites corruption.  On every level.

The reason I bring all this up isn’t to engage in a political discourse….it’s to comment on a)why I don’t get involved in politics and b)that this is just how people are, and it makes it that much tougher to trust ANYONE.   I believe this world will never change due to politicians.  We have to be the change we want to see in the world. It’s heartbreaking to shed that idealistic view that I think most people carry with them, maybe through their 20’s.  I kinda wish I could still see the world as full of people who are basically good.  Or at the very least, be able to keep my heart just open enough to let a few good people in.

These days, when someone is really nice to me, I feel downright uncomfortable.  I really need to work on that.  Ohhhh, I’m like Parker, on Leverage!  Yeah.  She calls ’em like she sees them.

Parker[as a flight attendant, speaking before takeoff] In the event of a water landing, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device. But let’s face it, if this thing goes down in the water, more than likely, the impact will kill you. Please take a moment to locate the nearest emergency exit. Because if this plane’s on fire, you’re gonna wanna get out quick. Jet fuel burns at over a thousand degrees! That’s hot, folks.

Okay, I’m done rambling.  Wait, one more thing.  Tommy Lee Jones is a distant cousin of mine.  Really, really distant.  Like, 150 years ago our kin was kin.  And he lives outside San Antonio.  And he’s a Spurs fan.  It’s kismet.

Kick ass. Please.

Not that I aspire to become a self-centered ass, but I am going to direct my energies more towards things I can change, like myself, rather than focusing SO MUCH energy on the regretful past or the imagined future.  Living in the past/future leaves a virtually meaningless present.  That being said, my list, not of things to necessarily be done this year, per say, but to work towards in general.  In no particular order…

  • Sign up for kickboxing
  • Become kinder
  • Become kick-ass
  • Take singing lessons
  • Improve my painting skills
  • Audition for something
  • Become less cynical
  • Stop getting rabid over little things, like a printer not working or some yahoo cutting me off in traffic.  In other words, let go of the little things
  • Take dancing lessons with my husband
  • See more plays
  • Stay sober
  • Write more
  • Photograph more
  • Play with my kid more
  • Live in the moment

On the subject of acting/auditioning; Something possessed me to google “late bloomers” in terms of acting.  Even though the majority of the actors referenced in the article I found were people who had been working in the movies/theater for decades, the article focused more on when they actually “hit it big”, which was later in their 30’s, 40’s or 50’s.  The article actually referenced 32 as being past your prime.  Kinda like basketball players, right?  So here I am, reading how rare it is to succeed the older you are and blah, blah, blah, when this little voice inside me asks, “why the hell are you reading this crap? what does this have to do with you?”  I then realized I was setting myself up for failure.  Without even realizing it, I had approached the idea of taking a creative leap as an impossible feat.  Like the nasty voice inside me (I call her Agnes….not a literal voice I hear, mind you, just a name I’ve given my negativity) was saying, “you want to do what?  well, let me show you how impossible that will be.  suck on that!”

I had to pull back, and remind myself that my focus should be on taking little steps.  Go on an audition. See what happens.  Don’t worry about the result, just take that leap.  If it works, great, if it doesn’t, try again.  So, to add to the list…

  • Replace negative thoughts with positive ones; aka, kick Agnes’ ass.  Tell the b*tch to pound sand.