“I wanna be more like them and less like me.”
My husband is a writer. Whenever he hears an interesting line of dialogue spoken by anyone, he writes it down and recycles it. I said the above quote two years ago. I was reading a new draft of an upcoming screenplay my husband is writing and read my own words. I felt the same deep ache in my chest that creeped inside me the day I uttered those words. And then I felt the hot sting of embarrassment on my cheeks. I have so much to be grateful for. Little ten year old me would be so proud of me. I have dedicated my life to my acting. I have grown so much as an actor and artist. I am averaging about 1 to 2 auditions a week (which might not be a lot for some people, but it is for me), I completed my first contract as an actor with a union theater, and I’m flying to Kentucky for a horror film later this month. Despite all of these wins, I find myself wishing that I was more like them and less like me. Who’s them? Anyone. You, probably. As I scroll through social media or even grab a cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop, I see all these amazingly beautiful human beings. Each one has such a unique and interesting way of just being. And then I look at myself: either in the mirror or watching a recent self-tape and I find myself longing to be different. I’m incapable of seeing what interesting and unique qualities I might possess. Before each audition I find myself worrying about my weight, my skin, my hair, and my ability to actually do my job. It’s exhausting. When I auditioned for the top grad schools in the world this January, I went through the most grueling and nerve-wracking audition processes of my life. I sat in a large dance studio in Julliard and watched as the room dwindled from two hundred to seven to three final people. And I was still in the room. The same thing happened at Tisch. I went through rounds and rounds of auditions and watched as the room shrink. I was told by someone at Tisch that they’re building an ensemble and that I might not be the right fit for the ensemble, but I was already working at an off-broadway level and they would help me find work. I got some offers and some rejections, but that nugget of encouragement gave me the confidence to get to work. I mean, if someone at Tisch believed in me, I could believe in myself. Now it’s six months later, and I don’t know where that confidence went? I am constantly longing to be different. To be better. To be a better actor, a better fit for that character, to be in better shape, to just be a better person. I don’t know what happened. I guess it’s imposter syndrome. Maybe it’s some sort of post-partum from graduating college. I find myself in a good routine right now. I’m making money, working out, making time for friends, reading new books and plays, and playing in the sunshine, but under the great routine and perfectly polished selfies, I’m insecure. Not forever. But for today. And it sucks. And I accept that. I am the sky and my feelings are just clouds. Maybe confidence is like the myth of motivation. Motivation is fleeting and impossible to conjure, but discipline can be cultivated. I work out, not when I’m motivated to, but every day! Because showing up is what’s important. So I’m going to continue my routine, continuing working towards my goals, and for now, I’m going to be insecure. And maybe confidence will roll back in at some point, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because for today I choose to show up just as I am; insecurities, and vulnerabilities and all.
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