Hola, Chrysalis Cronies,
After my last post reflecting on change and why it can't just do its whole change business a little faster, I tried to send it into high gear myself. This is something I have a history of: being frozen, acting like that's a choice (worse, even saying it is) and suddenly trying to blast out of my own atmosphere in a little one-man pod on a mission to some new frontier. Blam! There goes five inches of my hair! Blaz! I really wanna be a travel show host! Blowie! I gotta quit my job! In like, eight months! Okay, that one's gonna be a process. But it's all proof positive, I guess, that I'm still trying to move under the ice.
Some of you know that one of the thought-amoebas I've been swimming around with under the ice is this notion of going back to school. I've been so busy trying to decide if it's a real idea that I've gone ahead and done absolutely nothing about it. As has happened before ('I'm gonna run in a race. On my 32nd birthday!'), a serendipitous moment involving Time Out got me off my mental ass. I saw an ad for a seminar on courses at NYU. The last of the series was on their writing program and I went.
Now, back to the ice for a moment. I've been thinking a lot about being frozen. Winter's a great time to think about that kind of shit. This glacier-thick sheet of ice I slip under and pretend is some important phase of development is self-imposed in every way. Duh. Moving on to the real revelation now...
I've been trying to figure out what it is. The ice. I think it symbolizes this big legitimacy issue I have. Are you asking yourself if you somehow wandered onto a Dr. Phil thread? I promise I'll avoid the pop-psycho language if you promise to stay with me.
When I walked into the seminar classroom in Cooper Square last Thursday my hands were shaking. I'd worked myself into a frenzy of anxiety about whether I should be there. See, I was wearing this sparkly shirt. I'd bought it before the holidays and hadn't found a proper occasion for it during all the mistletoe insanity. Still, it's somewhat fashionable and has its place with a pair of dark jeans. So I wore it that morning thinking I should be a bit fancy for the seminar. But it felt too disco-y, too lady of the evening, and I figured that out too late. When I stepped into the stark, fluorescent room to find a combo desk/chair, I swore I heard some sorta Sister Sledge or something playing underneath me. The point is, I didn't feel like a student. Which is ridiculous. I struggled the entire length of the seminar, shoulders up to my ears, feeling out of place--even in a room with several other adults who'd walked in late, carrying all their belongings in plastic grocery bags. Afterward I went to an advisor to ask a question and thought I felt his eyes widen and zone in on my shimmying shirt, instantly identifying me as illegitimate. 'Not a writer', he noted. 'A cocktail waitress.' Why do I do that? Freeze myself under the ice like that?
I had a great chat with a lovely person the other night. We agreed that this struggle for legitimacy might partially come from the duality of being an artist and simultaneously trying to make a living at a day job we don't connect with. For years I found myself apologizing for one entire aspect of my life, as if it wasn't the one that really sustained me: "well, I am an actor on the side", "well, occasionally, I may have to step out for an audition", "well, I do a bit of writing here and there." I've gotten so used to apologizing for what I love to do that it's become second nature to think I can't do it.
I'm really considering going back to school. But I'm gonna have to start thawing out. I can't go on believing my own bullshit about myself or I'm gonna turn into a fossil.
After my last post reflecting on change and why it can't just do its whole change business a little faster, I tried to send it into high gear myself. This is something I have a history of: being frozen, acting like that's a choice (worse, even saying it is) and suddenly trying to blast out of my own atmosphere in a little one-man pod on a mission to some new frontier. Blam! There goes five inches of my hair! Blaz! I really wanna be a travel show host! Blowie! I gotta quit my job! In like, eight months! Okay, that one's gonna be a process. But it's all proof positive, I guess, that I'm still trying to move under the ice.
Some of you know that one of the thought-amoebas I've been swimming around with under the ice is this notion of going back to school. I've been so busy trying to decide if it's a real idea that I've gone ahead and done absolutely nothing about it. As has happened before ('I'm gonna run in a race. On my 32nd birthday!'), a serendipitous moment involving Time Out got me off my mental ass. I saw an ad for a seminar on courses at NYU. The last of the series was on their writing program and I went.
Now, back to the ice for a moment. I've been thinking a lot about being frozen. Winter's a great time to think about that kind of shit. This glacier-thick sheet of ice I slip under and pretend is some important phase of development is self-imposed in every way. Duh. Moving on to the real revelation now...
I've been trying to figure out what it is. The ice. I think it symbolizes this big legitimacy issue I have. Are you asking yourself if you somehow wandered onto a Dr. Phil thread? I promise I'll avoid the pop-psycho language if you promise to stay with me.
When I walked into the seminar classroom in Cooper Square last Thursday my hands were shaking. I'd worked myself into a frenzy of anxiety about whether I should be there. See, I was wearing this sparkly shirt. I'd bought it before the holidays and hadn't found a proper occasion for it during all the mistletoe insanity. Still, it's somewhat fashionable and has its place with a pair of dark jeans. So I wore it that morning thinking I should be a bit fancy for the seminar. But it felt too disco-y, too lady of the evening, and I figured that out too late. When I stepped into the stark, fluorescent room to find a combo desk/chair, I swore I heard some sorta Sister Sledge or something playing underneath me. The point is, I didn't feel like a student. Which is ridiculous. I struggled the entire length of the seminar, shoulders up to my ears, feeling out of place--even in a room with several other adults who'd walked in late, carrying all their belongings in plastic grocery bags. Afterward I went to an advisor to ask a question and thought I felt his eyes widen and zone in on my shimmying shirt, instantly identifying me as illegitimate. 'Not a writer', he noted. 'A cocktail waitress.' Why do I do that? Freeze myself under the ice like that?
I had a great chat with a lovely person the other night. We agreed that this struggle for legitimacy might partially come from the duality of being an artist and simultaneously trying to make a living at a day job we don't connect with. For years I found myself apologizing for one entire aspect of my life, as if it wasn't the one that really sustained me: "well, I am an actor on the side", "well, occasionally, I may have to step out for an audition", "well, I do a bit of writing here and there." I've gotten so used to apologizing for what I love to do that it's become second nature to think I can't do it.
I'm really considering going back to school. But I'm gonna have to start thawing out. I can't go on believing my own bullshit about myself or I'm gonna turn into a fossil.
4 comments:
I know exactly how you feel.
I am on the other end of school, and I still feel not quite adequate.
A fellow blogger put it best, I feel like a poodle in a tutu. Everyone knows a poodle can be taught to wear a tutu and strut around, but it's not really what the poodle wants to do.
The worst part is when you are doing what you want to do, but still feel as though the "real" adults/lawyers/parents/writers, are going to catch you and tell you that you are doing it wrong.
I think you should use school as a way to break the ice. I always found that sheer amount of information being thrown at me to light a fire under my butt and wake me up into action.
I miss school. Maybe I can go back too.
Oh, if only I was law material! We could go back together...in tutus!
Kate, don't worry. I felt the same way when I wore my shimmery shirt too.
I think we all have our own layers of ice, some a bit thicker than others. I struggle at my bullshit job because it makes me tired, too tired to do the things I really want to do. That's the excuse anyway.
Kate, I'm still dealing with the same garbage and it's been 123 years that I've been writing. For me the ice is the isolation that is necessary to the process. Especially in winter I become a hermit, and each day of that chips away at my confidence. Going to that seminar was a huge, important step toward finding your own kind. You've begun to sprinkle salt on that ice. Good on you! Much love.
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