Spiders Aren't So Bad
Dear All,
This gorgeous Sunday evening, I write to you from the comforts of my bed (inside my lovely level 8 cabin in the centre of the ship). They say the centre is the best place to be as it's most protected from the waves. This is a really great height as well; we ride the waves, not take them! Oliver also pointed out that he's not seen a spider since boarding the ship; he's very grateful that we don't take elements of the land on board with us!
Things are going quite well. We've realised there's less than a month left of the contract. I believe most have already organised to go back to their jobs and to the auditioning scene. I have done no such thing. I've sat trying to sort out what items I can throw away when going home (because I'm going over the weight limit for sure right now)!
In my life, three months(ish) is all I've spent with this lot. It has happened in the past with other shows, where we convene and rehearse and become really, excruciatingly close, then go our separate ways at the end of the show. It is only a natural reaction to miss the experience and the people, but for us who've been in the biz a while, it is even more natural to get reintegrated into normal "life" and move on and away from the experiences and people here.
There was a point in my life when I would hold on to my show friends dearly (shoutout to my Russian Ballet Society friends, 2007)! We'd promise to have a five year reunion and write each other fervently. Those ties dissipate, yes, but are wholly appreciated. I would always welcome one of them to my home from now until the end of my time... or their times. Even now, I know I've made lifelong friends in this group. No matter how blasé you become about short contracts and transient lifestyles, you do hold onto what is dear to you. No matter what.
Life gives you perspective. It gives more arch. Times like these (impending Christmas) remind us to stop and think: who means the most to me? what have I done to show them how they've impacted me? What else can I do? Unfortunately, being on a ship is a truly reclusive experience (I am a rock, I am an island!). Getting to respond to emails without waiting for the "send" button to "click" is a miracle on this ship.
With all this said, yesterday I had the chance to speak to my hubby Coran Jones. Since he's picked up a few jobs and I've been reliant on shoddy wifi, we've not talked since I left Northampton! A few texts here and there are good and well, but hearing his voice made me realise just how much I missed him and how much he means to me. Again with the perspective shock.
This past week, I met up for a few hours with Australian friend, Daisy. We literally traipsed a museum in Stockholm, ate, and then went our separate ways. She assured me, that although we haven't kept in touch too much throughout the year, it doesn't matter. We're together in this moment, taking advantage of an opportunity rather than chasing old friendships. It made me sigh in relief, thinking of all the friends I've left by the wayside. They are woven into my history and I into theirs. Just like spiders' webs, our stories are pretty and intricate and individual. They can grow in complexity, fixate in places and move onwards, sprawling out between branches.
Spiders aren't so bad after all.
Just a bit from this week -
My crafty Nativity set, made with nature from Stockholm's most homely park. and a photo by the water in between islands in the city centre.
This gorgeous Sunday evening, I write to you from the comforts of my bed (inside my lovely level 8 cabin in the centre of the ship). They say the centre is the best place to be as it's most protected from the waves. This is a really great height as well; we ride the waves, not take them! Oliver also pointed out that he's not seen a spider since boarding the ship; he's very grateful that we don't take elements of the land on board with us!
Things are going quite well. We've realised there's less than a month left of the contract. I believe most have already organised to go back to their jobs and to the auditioning scene. I have done no such thing. I've sat trying to sort out what items I can throw away when going home (because I'm going over the weight limit for sure right now)!
In my life, three months(ish) is all I've spent with this lot. It has happened in the past with other shows, where we convene and rehearse and become really, excruciatingly close, then go our separate ways at the end of the show. It is only a natural reaction to miss the experience and the people, but for us who've been in the biz a while, it is even more natural to get reintegrated into normal "life" and move on and away from the experiences and people here.
There was a point in my life when I would hold on to my show friends dearly (shoutout to my Russian Ballet Society friends, 2007)! We'd promise to have a five year reunion and write each other fervently. Those ties dissipate, yes, but are wholly appreciated. I would always welcome one of them to my home from now until the end of my time... or their times. Even now, I know I've made lifelong friends in this group. No matter how blasé you become about short contracts and transient lifestyles, you do hold onto what is dear to you. No matter what.
Life gives you perspective. It gives more arch. Times like these (impending Christmas) remind us to stop and think: who means the most to me? what have I done to show them how they've impacted me? What else can I do? Unfortunately, being on a ship is a truly reclusive experience (I am a rock, I am an island!). Getting to respond to emails without waiting for the "send" button to "click" is a miracle on this ship.
With all this said, yesterday I had the chance to speak to my hubby Coran Jones. Since he's picked up a few jobs and I've been reliant on shoddy wifi, we've not talked since I left Northampton! A few texts here and there are good and well, but hearing his voice made me realise just how much I missed him and how much he means to me. Again with the perspective shock.
This past week, I met up for a few hours with Australian friend, Daisy. We literally traipsed a museum in Stockholm, ate, and then went our separate ways. She assured me, that although we haven't kept in touch too much throughout the year, it doesn't matter. We're together in this moment, taking advantage of an opportunity rather than chasing old friendships. It made me sigh in relief, thinking of all the friends I've left by the wayside. They are woven into my history and I into theirs. Just like spiders' webs, our stories are pretty and intricate and individual. They can grow in complexity, fixate in places and move onwards, sprawling out between branches.
Spiders aren't so bad after all.
Just a bit from this week -
My crafty Nativity set, made with nature from Stockholm's most homely park. and a photo by the water in between islands in the city centre.
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