Blowing off the dust...

When I was 12 or so, I mentioned to my mother's friend that I wanted to be an actor. Linda casually told me that actors live difficult lives and that I'd be better off picking something easier. My cheeks burned and my heart sank. I was crushed by her comment--not because she was telling me something I didn't know. It was her condescending, teaching tone, her presumption that my wanting to act was nothing more than a naive childhood fantasy. Her remark, so seemingly fleeting, has left an ugly scar on my heart. It has very much shaped how I view myself, how I view others, and how I’ve conducted my life.

After my first year of high school, I gave up performing and enrolled in a pre-business program at the University of Virginia. My mother begged me not to do it. I thought I was being practical. Although I loved UVA, probably for its aloof un-attainability, I was miserable there. I wore pearls and sorority pants and drank a lot of bad beer. I made out with boys at parties and tried to be someone I'm not. But all in all, it was good that I went through that then and not when the stakes were higher. And I had a lot of fun so, of course, that year and a half was not a total loss. I joined an improv troupe, which is, in a roundabout way, the reason I am so happily living and performing in Chicago.

More than she could ever know, Linda made me afraid of living the life I wanted for as long as I can remember. I have been afraid of looking stupid, afraid of wanting something so difficult to attain, afraid of dreaming, afraid of not conforming to untailored expectations. I would love to be naive, but I can’t take myself seriously enough for long enough to know what that’s like. And these fears have extended beyond my career choice. I have since defaulted to the role of the cynic, which is not fun for the cynic or her friends and family. It wasn’t until I met Chris that I resolved myself even to love without feeling silly.

For a while, I have struggled with these issues, a sort of quarter-life crisis, if you will. It wasn’t until about a year ago that I realized that I wasn’t willing to put my neck out to get what I want. And if I wasn’t willing to do that I might as well give up. A little courage was needed to repair the damage Linda’s words wrecked on my confidence.

I have since rectified the situation and my neck is out further every day. I like to think myself as one of those African women with beautiful gold bands piled high about my shoulders and below my regal chin. To spite my reservations, to spite Linda, I tell anyone who wants to hear that I’m an actor. It doesn’t matter that my executive assisting pays the bills; I am and have always been an actor. At first I couldn’t do it without proactive wince. But the more I said it the more proud I’ve become that I, most likely unlike Linda, am exactly where I wanted to be when I was 12.

But, oh, what damage advice can be. I wonder how easier things would have been had she not said it that day. No doubt I’d have heard it elsewhere, but would it have been different? Who knows? We’ll both have to wait and see how this story ends.