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KonMarie-ing Life

January 23, 2019
You’re not alone, gurl.

It’s true: the older I get, the more I understand Britney’s 2007 meltdown. Of course she shaved her head; she was probably overheated with decades of unexpressed rage that couldn’t be cooled any other way. I get it. (I see you, Britney.) I, sadly, have a freakishly bumpy skull that would send children running and make grown men cry, so a buzz is out for me, but I appreciate the sentiment oh so well because I too am trying to figure out what to do with my rage, and primal scream therapy is not available on my current health plan. Until I find a good therapist, WebMD told me I should keep a journal, and at Julia Cameron‘s suggestion, I’ve been journaling every morning, conversing with myself about how to best KonMarie my life and career. I even wrote a haiku about it:

in the kitchen sink
she sets forks, cups, spoons, knives, and--
fire to her dead dreams

The big question I’ve been asking myself is: Where do I want to put my energy? And some interesting answers came up, the most significant being that I’m ready to stop actively pursuing performance opportunities. As someone who has identified as a performer for the last 20 years, this was revelatory even to me. To that, I adore teaching voice and will do so until my vocal folds shrivel and dry, but until now, I had considered my teaching supplemental to my performing. I’m ready to flip the script on that: performance as an extension of teaching. I’m not disavowing performance; I hope that performance opportunities will evolve organically through my relationships with friends and other artists, but just taking it as it comes is good enough for me.

This is absolutely liberating because auditioning is the absolute f*cking worst. I know the industry tries to tell us that we’re so lucky we get to do what we love in eight bars with a beginning, middle, and end, but deep down, we all know this is bullshit. It’s just the worst. I will say, however, that auditioning as an actor has prepared me for any and all future rejection that may come my way because, truly, there is no humiliation as exquisite as being rejected for who you are (or aren’t). I’m ready for anything now!

And I’m ready to write. Writing was my first love–the kind of love you completely take for granted because it was always there for you and never left and is still there waiting for you to come back. True love? Maybe. xo

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1 Comment

  • Reply Jaime January 24, 2019 at 12:56 PM

    I had a similar conversation with myself in the car this morning. I also decided that I want to write, just in notes, not in words. I, too, have a lumpy skull, so the buzz is out for me as well. Maybe those bumps are our ideas trying to burst forth into the world. Love you, chica ❤️

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