Not Dead Yet

Struggle City

The sun is shining, the motors groaning, the smog descending, the birds awakening. It's May. There's an undoubtable air of spring, with the evenings extending later into the night, the pinks of the sunsets devouring the sky. Amidst all of this glory, I sit, anxious. I'm nearing the anniversary of my move to London, and my accomplishments seem to disappear like the night's dark. The light shines on me, highlighting every flaw and exposing me for what I am. A normal person.

Shine (followed by hail, followed by shine).

In times of youth, I harbored a defiance, a certainty, a hunger. When I was cast in something, I knew I fought well for it and the world was better because of it. When I wasn't cast in something, I knew it was a mistake, I questioned the people who made that mistake and then my own being. My own talents. Although I admire that defiant girl, I also tut at her energy spent, loving, hating, rollercoastering.

Nowadays I need to keep my head on my shoulders for my banal jobs. I need to do things like arrive on time, arrange schedules, cycle everywhere and stay open and accessible. I need to be mobile, smiley, attentive, kind. Sometimes I am those things, but when I slip I become anxious, unsteady, self-loathing. Sometimes the thing that causes me to slip is my own work - concentrating on my professional development as an actress. It's almost like I get angry at my creative self for meddling with my smiley, attentive, boring banal-job Sally self. And in retrospect, I shouldn't.

You know me to be a gal who needs reason. Each step needs intention, each person needs explanations. In drama college, I would get reprimanded for being outside of myself, for assessing my performance as I went along rather than just being in the moment. It's my natural tendency to think alongside myself. It's my natural tendency to find the motivations for other people's actions. So some of the boring jobs that I do, in which I feel my talents are not utilized, are bringing me to the brink. I think of these jobs as lesser than myself. Unworthy of my time and diminishing my talent.

Finding a New Spring

Yesterday, I experienced a low, one that was illogical and fierce. It happens from time to time, when I'm so aghast at my actions (or lack thereof) that I feel the best option is just to run away. I've made a mess, just turn away from it and hope it doesn't come back to bite me.

Maybe if I hide, no one will notice.

That state of anxiety coerced me to reach out. I called my mother, who was eager to talk about the changes in her workplace and her concern for our family. I texted my brother who I've been longing to play tennis with now the weather's so nice. I became less engrossed in self, more attentive to others, and it dawned on me: my mistakes are my own, but the burden I create from them is also my own. Rather than harboring fear and self-loathing, I can take the steps I feel that would put me back on my feet, acknowledging my past mistakes and addressing them as best I see fit.

Blog Buster

This week, I honestly thought I wouldn't be writing you. I had the impetus to read a few past entries, and realized they were a bit boring, wordy, personal, embarrassing. Moreover, they were a reflection of things accomplished: what I was doing in college, my graduation ceremony, my first auditions, etc. Now that those exciting peaks have diminished, it just seems self-indulgent, wrapped in worry and monotony. I felt I was at a place in which I could turn away from writing and towards something else.

As is always the case, I've lost something - my headlamp. In my search around my room, I discovered my first ever scrapbook, created by the wonderful team at Sweet Cafe and Bakery (highly recommended). They lined the pages with words of well-wishes, top secret recipes, and photos from my time at Sweet, and I've added a few little embellishments of my own, including my "2014 Time Capsule". Among my list of goals: make salenaterraincognita a lifelong blog.

Damn you, 2014 Sal!

So I guess this is today's message:  I'm Not Dead Yet.