The Project…Past?

During my run of La Cage Aux Folles in spring of 2013, I felt I was desperately sprinting to a finish line before my heart burst - something reminiscent to Stone Fox’s plot line. I panged and pined. I thought, “IS this ‘project’ of me coming to a close?” Or perhaps… the Project was beginning metamorphosis?

It may be I have evolved. Priorities have in fact changed. But what is so interesting to me is why I chose not to broadcast this news at that time and further, why it has take me this long to do so. Why did I choose seclusion? Was I not proud? Or presumably - was it that I did not want to, nor could I even handle the thought of closing the stage door…completely.

That was about 2 years ago. I knew then and still know the answers to those questions, and yet, it is so uncomfortable.

Is it that if I talk about me and my life in the 3rd person or metaphorically that it will hurt less? Or sound less ugly?

Well, honestly…deep breath….here goes…

This whole rebirthing transformative metamorphic process has been very painful. No epidural here. The growth process usually is quite torturous for me. The whole existing daily thing can be a white-hot, branding-like challenge for me.

I have traveled down this path away from theater because I desperately needed to. Just as my excursion to NYC proved to be everything I never wanted it to be, this recent chapter too was disappointing. Not because of the friends I have made and certainly not for the good art I participated in creating, but because I wanted more and reality has continuously nudged me the opposite direction. Nay… shoved, punched, kicked, and dragged.

I desperately wished circumstances were different, but I chose to be realistic and see that I was dealt a different set of cards. With theatre, I was trying to play with a hand that might appear in the future, or for example, I thought I might have an experience like those who have been “Chosen” that aren’t the most pretty or talented, but had “something”. I thought my something was enough. Maybe my something was good enough sometimes to some people, but how harshly we are judged.

It’s really hard to admit you’re not right for something you want so desperately. Like the person you are absolutely head over heels in love with, but they don’t return your sentiment. I guess if it weren’t for wanting I would not have gotten as far as I did in performing. I’m sure some would say I didn’t try hard enough, give it enough time, I took my luck for granted, or any number of other caddy things that hurt, but the truth is far more frustrating for me. I worked really hard. I wanted really bad. So bad in fact that I was willing to destroy myself to get there.

I am not sure where I got the idea that was a good plan – destroying myself, but I am not naturally pretty, thin, or talented. I am not one the camera loves- action or still. The stage embraced me more warmly, but the life does not. I wanted so badly to be a performer, but the performing world is a dark one for me. It is filled with a spirit that is more demanding, controlling, and judging than my fragile esteem can handle. The “world” brings out the very worst torturous thoughts in me in exchange only for brief, intermittent moments experiencing raw joy when in the lights. It’s an addiction. It’s an awful siren song.

Thinking back, I sometimes get really angry at those that said I was gonna go somewhere, that I was “meant to do this.” I have been furious with those who said I was talented and then, not only stood by as I poisoned myself, but supported me doing so.

I have broken myself to be what that world wants me to be - that. I suffered in silence for fear of shame. Because, for a while, me being mangled inside, meant others thought I was good…enough.

I have been through a variety of emotions during my evolution. As I morph, I have hated my body, my voice, my face, and my mind because it isn’t good enough to “make it”. The we in me aren’t strong enough to hack it. I would be a “has been”, but I never WAS. I have compared all I am to others. I watch those that I admire and feel envy and terrible grief. “What about me?!” I scream inside. “Why not me?!?!”

There is no answer.

There is no one.

Frankly, the white-hot reality is -- I am not that. I so desperately tried to fit into a skin of a shadow of a hope that I had, but alas – the skin did not fit. And I’m awkwardly getting to be ok with that. Somewhat.

And then… I think of my son. Blessed be, my son’s eyes pulled me out, up, and away before I drowned in scalding tears. He helps me consider my purpose. My son is my light put inside the soul of another. A light I can touch and feel in the pitch of each day. I am good enough to be his mom. I am good enough to give him life. I am just right in fact. And I see my good in him. He radiates - a symbol of unconditional love.

Next…

I remember the sanctity in my ancient love. Without the gift of John’s unconditional adoration, I would not have this perfect child to love and raise, and a beautiful sanctuary to return to each day. At the end of the day when I feel so little, so unimportant, and so depressed…he flirts and flaunts his love for me. He makes me laugh and he tenderly caresses me on the forehead. Some simple stroke of peace comes.

As I said…priorities have changed.
There are those in my truest soul circle that are proud of me because they know the struggles I have dealt with, but I don’t think anyone truly knows the pain I feel every day, the struggle to stay present, and the challenge it is for me to try. No one knows the sadness I can be consumed by and the fatigue I often feel putting one foot in front of the other. My energy and light depleted. Many days I hate sleeping yet that’s all I want to do. I want to quit. To run away. To hide. The fantasies that can go through my mind daily are so vivid. But boy do I march on. I fight to carry myself with strength and gratitude. I tell myself I can take on anything. I can. I do. I will carry on - in spite of all who doubt or wish ill, including myself. I will play to win with the cards I've been dealt. Pull myself up by my own hair, turn myself inside out and see the world through fresh eyes, right? I don’t need new skin. My soul has grown to fit mine better.

My purpose is a bit foggy, but at least one can see fog. We know scientifically that it exists. Spiritually, smoke carries spirits. The wind will carry me again to the destination for which I am meant to moisten. To add life. At some point, the salty water of my tears gives joy to others. At some point I want to look at all I have done and feel that it is good…enough…

I am working hard on something else now. Working to accept. Me. I am working to see that I have many other talents and abilities that will carry me further than the theater. Something to help me leave a helping legacy. Something that will help me to feel accomplished and proud that I gave back, that I worked to help the souls on Earth without sacrificing my physical and mental well-being. The less I worry about the judgment of others and the more I worry about what I am able give, the more peace I have. My conscience is clear.

I have made mistakes just like the next soul. I have done what I can to right my wrongs and yet, I am certain to make more mistakes. I want to let go of external validation and look to spiritual harmony and peace. It’s possible. It is out there and I intend to reach a new level of awareness. I am transcending. Perhaps this phase of The Project we shall call Phoenix…