I am afraid. Full stop. (Or...the post with lots of ellipses...)

Last year, when I first dared open my eyes to that beast known as the transition into the real word, I confidently said I would be in it for the long haul. I hadn't trained for a sprint, I was going full out--metaphorical marathon runner, I am! 

When I say "in it" by "it" I mean the business of acting. Yes, I am an actor. I am loathe to admit this because...well, let's face it...everyone's an actor. And many "actors" are...well, you know...selfish and self-serving and delusional. Not to say that I'm not all these things, in fact, I'm quite sure I am. But I'd like to think that somehow I'm...different (delusional indeed). What I mean is... I don't want to be defined by the profession, or the business. Acting is something I do and I happen to be quite good at it, but I dunno...it's hard. Hard to reconcile the art of it with the grit of the business. And I'm not quite sure I'm ready for the grit of it. 

I had coffee with my friend Stephen a few nights ago and I said...Stephen, I'm afraid that deep down I don't really want to be an actor. And do you know what he said to me? He said, No Meg, you're afraid. Full stop. End of story. Fear is fear and it will latch on to any story you're willing to feed it. Fear is in you and you're making up stories to justify it's existence. 

Ohhhhhhh....huh. So that's what I've been doing. And upsy-daisy goes my world. 

So I'm gonna keep truckin'. Training for that marathon. Stretching my muscles before that internal gun goes off and I leap off the edge of what's known.

So here's to racing along a route we've never before traveled.... ever been to Arches National park in Utah? One of its main draws is "the delicate arch." The path there is not easy. Long, difficult footing, monstrously hot if you travel there in the summer, and seemingly never-ending. But just when you think you'll never get there, just as you're about to give up all together, you turn a corner and there it is. And in that moment you literally swallow you're own heartbeat. I hope the path I'm embarking on is like that. Just like that. 

P.S. Image stolen from www.utah.com

Musings, ramblings...Or what you will.

It's a perfect Saturday morning in the city. Quiet. Cool. Slightly overcast. My laundry is tucked away in one of the many washing machines two doors down and a hint of breeze is slipping in through the top of my window. 

When I was little I played make-believe more than most children do. I carried out the humble manifestations of my dreams and idyllic ideas long after most girls had become boy-obsessed. When I was tiny I played wedding make-believe. And god bless my mother as she was always in search of the perfect underslip that would easily turn into the perfect wedding dress (I guess I envisioned separates?). I played house, most especially whenever my father brought home flowers, for they brought out any domestic goddess tendencies that now lay dormant. I had my own little Fischer Price kitchen in the pantry and I would piddle away the time answering the yellow telephone and taking things in and out of the stove. God, I still remember the curve of the plastic and glamor of it all. The first two jobs I ever aspired to were those of cheerleader and flight attendant. Think about it, a young girl's first two job choices: flight attendant, chearleader...yes, clearly feminism was alive and well. Not to worry, in time I dreamt of becoming a pediatrician or the first female President of the United States. But when I really think about it, from a very young age, I wanted nothing more than to live in Manhattan, all by my lonesome, and live the life of  a sophisticated, hard-working, single gal. I didn't dream about marriage or even men. I dreamt about the life I could build by myself, so that when I did meet the man of my dreams I would be ready for him.

At school, for four years, all I ever heard was, if you can get through this, you can get through anything--that our schedule would be harder than anything we'd ever come up against. Well, let me tell you...no one, absolutely no one, prepared me for this. Working a myriad of jobs (while constantly seeking to expand the circle of employment), auditioning, taking class to make you a better artist because really you're working to become a better person, keeping up with friends and family, and oh yeah...trying to keep my head above the rip-roaring currents that constantly threaten--that's hard. It's so hard. Remember, a while back when I said that I wish it could be just a little bit easier? I still hope for that, but now I'm not just hoping--I'm working towards it, on a daily basis. It's so hard...and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I was so taken by CJane's post where she wrote that Christian spoke of literally feeling the prayers working on him. The idea of that humbles me in every possible way--the idea that prayer is not a thought, but an actual action, an energy that moves through the world healing. Well, I'm starting to believe that prayers coupled with the million daily miracles that keep life moving forward can actually change us--heal us, alter our physical make-up. My day requires alot of travel time. Busses, subways, foot traffic. And well, I can feel those hour long subway rides working on me. Those cross town bus trips shaping something new and different. The very ebb and flow of the city is moving over and through me, carving a new outlook, eroding doubts, dislodging fear. Something much greater than me is healing me, making me whole again. Two days ago, walking in Brooklyn before class, I realized that right now, at this very moment, I am living the life I envisioned for myself as a child. I am beholden to no one but myself. I am working as hard as I can, but as of yet, my life is completely anonymous. My life is my own. The other day, when I claimed those words as my new working mantra, I had not a clue as to how truly fitting and potent they could be, because there is a freedom in that anonymity like nothing I've ever before experienced. And yet, even that statement my life is my own, is somehow false. My life belongs to something much greater, much larger than me. I don't know where my religion stands right now (I'm working on it) but I do know that a higher power is working on me. So my life in many ways, is not my own at all. And I'm so glad it's this hard. Because I'm not alone. And I know that five years from now, I'm going to look back on this period as pure, unadulterated bliss. And in those five years as success gradually takes on new forms and different names, each period will be just as miraculous as the last. Now that I am aware of the joy inherent to any present moment, it will just keep coming, so that each new period of my life will be just as important and joyous as the last. Different in form, but similar in spirit. 

And thank God for that.

9 ways I know I'm growing up

1. I've given up soda. Not entirely, but almost. Benefits: I'm not filling my body with chemicals (well, not in this form anyway) and think of all the money saved! Now when I get the hankering for that soda rush, I reach for the water bottle.

2. I've put my beloved Prada bag up for sale on ebay. It's a matter of cash flow. I needmoney flowing in. And when I prance around Manhattan, so uber chic, with my Prada bag swinging in the wind, money tends to flow out...and out...and out. 

3. I have three jobs. One involves going to birthday parties and teaching kids to assemble robots. Ahhh,  the things we do when we're just starting out. 

4. I'm replacing my self imposed egoic image of fearful, with fearless. Fearless. A good word. A good way to live. I wear the word like a tramp stamp on my lower back (metaphorically, of course). 

5. I've given up Starbucks. I know, I know...I didn't think I'd ever see the day either, but it's now.  No more mint mocha chip frappucino lights. And I'll never go back. Not ever. Because just one sip and the addiction will begin again. For the first time, all over again.

6. I dealt with the insurance today. 

7. Today I assuaged my long suffering throat with orange juice (dietary concerns be gone!) and assorted berries (including blueberries, which I loathe) instead of the much preferred, cool, transiently soothing, but oh-so-good Tasti-Delite. That's the next addiction to go. I can feel my wallet growing already from all the money saved. 

8. I ran errand, after errand, after errand. And wrote email, after email, after email.

9. And at the end of the day I thought, my life is my own. And I don't know that I've ever fully possessed a more beautiful phrase in all my life.  

I guess I should confess...

that I'm in need of a really good cry. It's not that I'm sad. Because I'm not. I just feel something welling up inside of me and I could use a little release.

that I even resorted watching to One Tree Hill in bed last night to try to get that "really good cry"...

...and then drinking a smirnoff (because I didn't have wine) and taking a hot shower (because I didnt' have time for a bath

that I started playing footsie with Ned about a few days ago thinking it would end there, but it didn't. 

that I'm may never ever escape Ned.

that I discovered the exact location of that really good chlorine whiff on 5th ave. It's 54th street in case you want to know.

that I fell asleep in Sheep's meadow today and it was so good that I forgot where I was. In fact I started to get chilly so woke up to turn off my ceiling fan, only to realize it was the breeze and I was napping in a public park. And that I had no shame about that. 

that I'm blogging right now from Rockefeller Plaza (thanks to someone's free wi-fi), while I kill time before my job starts at the Met. I should be preparing for my auditions. But I'm not. Or exercising. But I'm not. 

that I've become addicted to blogging, most especially right now anything to do with the Nielsons. I go to Nie Nie and C Jane Enjoy It and wonder at their strength and faith and the glorious writing and then I stare at those gorgeous pictures of Stephanie and her children and wonder if I've ever met someone so beautiful. And I find myself praying for people I don't even know. And I don't pray much. 

that I hate having to ask people for gifts (aka money) over the phone...even if it is for a good cause. I get it...no one likes the pushy phone calls, no one likes to give money away...but it's my job and I love the people I work with. So please...have patience with telemarketers and fundraisers...they're just trying to make a go of it like everyone else.

that I can't understand why not one man offered me his seat on the bus this morning. I stood there for an hour. Chances are I would have refused, but really--is chivalry actually dead?

that I just realized I actually have to do something other than this...oh damn, the real world beckons and I am forced to answer. 

So Long Summer.

Dear Summer, 

       

I will miss you. I will miss you ever so much.

You began with a little thing known as graduation, for which my entire family (well, a large number of them) trekked to NYC to experience. And to those who came, most especially my parents, I must apologize. I was not excited. At all. Yes, I wanted to be done with school, but the actual pomp and circumstance associated with it--no thank you, not now. Juilliard met me half-way. If graduations are usually like four course meals at a five-star restaurants, Juilliard skips the meal altogether and just serves the shot of espresso that usually comes at the end.  So, here I offer up my promise that I will make this up to my family in the years that come. With parties and shindigs and events that far outweigh what any graduation could offer. 

I take after my father. I can't take a straight picture to save my life. Goofy face? Check.

Then summer you obliged me by letting me return home to Texas (home, Texas, one sentence? wow, I never thought I'd publicly put those two things together--ever) where I applied for jobs that had nothing to do with theatre and spent the evenings sprawled in a large leather chair enjoying books and reruns. I ended up at a lovely little retail shop where I made next to nothing, but learned more than you might think possible...

1. a big rock on the left hand does not entitle you to be a bitch

2. showing up on time is so easy to do and will so endear you to the people you work for

3. gossip is wasted energy

4. its possible to like almost anyone if you give them a chance and let go of your own ego

5. when raising children don't begin with the question: how do I make my child a good person? this will become overwhelming and you'll end up getting nowhere...instead you must teach them the simple things like look someone in the eye, say please and thank you, clean up after yourself, offer up words of kindness, no one exists simply to serve you (oh, and you're not your child's friend, you're their parent)

6. doing simple little things in life will take you such a long way

7. when taking in criticism, the person offering it isn't interested in your excuses, they just just want to know you've heard what they've said

And before heading back to Manhattan I took a lovely, little vacation (my first true one in a year and half) to Chautauqua. The previous two years I had been there as a "theatre student" (as Jonathan would say) and had met some of the most amazing people a girl could ever hope to know. Well, this go round I was there as a tourist and I loved it. I ate more food than I knew what to do with because Karen, my adopt-a-mom, cooks like Monet painted, or Neruda wrote. I read (after all this was the summer of my never-ending-book) and I slept and I went swimming and I made new friends. 

Summer, I must thank you for this most especially. New friends. Lovely friends. People whose path I had no right to cross and others I knew, but got to fall in love with in ways I never dreamed possible. Friends who have armed me with a new and deep knowledge, who serve as springboards for ideas, and instigators for trouble. Friends who make me laugh and laugh and laugh. Who give me reason to smile and giggle and want make secrets just so I can whisper them in their ears. Friends who I thought I would never see again because our friendship had run its course, only to realize I need them now more than ever. 

Whitney--I'm so glad you walked in to Francesca's and we got to reconnect. I feel really, really lucky to know you.

Ariana--seeing you this summer reminded me of this: you are my family and the keeper of my secrets. And I love you in so many ways. And we're gonna be okay. We're gonna find jobs and create lives others will only dream of.

Nicole--where were you the first 22 years of my life? Now that I found you, I'm never letting you go.

Jonathan--I'm so glad we got to spend time together, and you finally go to see that human side of me. I look forward to countless mint chocolate chip adventures in the future. 

Naomi--I admired you from afar for four years and now am so excited to get to play with you in the city. I actually have to admit, I'm still intimidated (even now) by how beautiful, intelligent, and self-possessed (not to mention talented) you are. You're blog opened up this glorious world to me and for that I'll forever be indebted. 

 

Vic--you were my friend through the worst of it and now we get to be friends through the best of it. I love exploring with you and trying new things and talking about those old bugaboos (of course looking forward to the day when they won't enter into our conversation at all). I love that Rob makes you so happy and you him.

Rob--I'm so proud of you. And so lucky to be able to tell you everything, even if it grosses you out and you choose to take three steps away from me. 

Gavin--As long as the offer stands, my answer will always be: yes, yes, let's run away together.

So thank you summer. 

Summer of the red door (I see them everywhere). 

Summer of the never-ending-book.

Summer of goodbyes...so long school, farewell Ned.

Summer of discovery. Summer of finding out that love is everywhere... in everything and everyone if you just open yourself up to it.

And of course...summer of you, my little blog-spot lover.

So summer, thank you. But now it's time for fall. Time for me to start working. Time for me to turn twenty-three. And time to at least give this acting thing a go of it.

See you next year my sweet and sinful season. 

'til we meet again, 'til we meet again,

Meg