Transitions
As you, my dear readers, probably know, I am just terrible with segues. It follows then that I would be equally as terrible with life transitions. Since I am faced with many at the moment, I find myself out of breath. I suppose I am also delighted, but I feel ripped apart and left to the wind.
I am in New Zealand. I am, until Wednesday, a fashion consultant at a life-sucking profit-seeking corporation called "Farmers" where I waste my days as a slave to sales and top class customer service. Come Thursday, I am receptionist and all around ray of sunshine for Exodus, the gym where Peter is a salesman. I already know the people who work there, and despite the obviously crooked individuals that own the gym, I think I'll fit in fairly well. However, selling day after day with cheery eye contact and compliments for every ugly piece of clothing in Farmers has left me without that general glow I usually have. I want to walk in and be the kind of person I would like to meet. I'm just exhausted and don't know if I can muster up the kind of strength it takes to be excited for another dead end job that I'll be leaving in the span of months.
Beneath of this film covering my personality, I have this strong desire to apply for Emerson's Theatre Education program. However, as you probably have read, my GREs were not up to my standards. And I don't know if they were up to Emerson's. So here is the real push: Emerson decided not to charge an application fee this year due to the recession. Doesn't that sound like a sign that I should apply? All I have to lose is an acceptance, which I can apply for again next year. The truth is, I'm scared to be heartbroken. I'm scared that a rejection would make me believe that I don't belong teaching theatre. I'm also terrified to get in. It's only a 2 year commitment and they have wonderful networking opportunities, so most of their graduates are placed in jobs quickly. I can't guarantee that I'm good at directing... that I even understand all of the elements of theatre, but I do know that directing Orange Flower Water as my senior thesis and heading Stage Company were the best things I've ever done. I know that at the time, there was no question: I knew that what I was doing was what I was meant to do. Now, being away from it all, it feels like a beautiful dream. I've awoken to a person far less courageous than she was in her dreamworld. I want her back. I think that's what all of this traveling has been. I want to find my voice again, my vision. I want to indulge in deep conversation with like-minded people.
I haven't started my application essay. I put it off because I want it to be brilliant. I think about things that cause me passion. I write them down in a little notebook that says "Bold Ideas" on the cover. Peter got it for me for Christmas. I type ideas. I say this phrase in my head again and again and again: "Understand that your opinions are not the truth." I feel connected to it. I feel moved by it. I read it in a psychology magazine. It makes me think, again, about the power of discussion, the power of education. And above all, it makes me think that we're all on the same level- we all have something brilliant to add to the world, something thought-provoking, despite what our GRE scores may say. And I want that. I want to teach and to be taught. And to tell Emerson that they're one in the same. I want to see ideas through someone else's mind, someone newly exposed to them. And the excitement of it hangs like an anvil from my chest. It feels like a heavy treasure that I'm supposed to break off into small manageable pieces. Or maybe it's just fear that all this is an empty hope.
I will write it. I will apply. But first, I will start my new job, take a trip to Blenheim, come home, pack my bags, and move into my new apartment in Mount Cook. Then I'll sigh, a big cleansing sigh, and I'll sit down and I'll write like I mean it. And they'll know I mean it because it will ooze out of my words.
Courage sometimes feels less courageous than I once imagined it.
I am in New Zealand. I am, until Wednesday, a fashion consultant at a life-sucking profit-seeking corporation called "Farmers" where I waste my days as a slave to sales and top class customer service. Come Thursday, I am receptionist and all around ray of sunshine for Exodus, the gym where Peter is a salesman. I already know the people who work there, and despite the obviously crooked individuals that own the gym, I think I'll fit in fairly well. However, selling day after day with cheery eye contact and compliments for every ugly piece of clothing in Farmers has left me without that general glow I usually have. I want to walk in and be the kind of person I would like to meet. I'm just exhausted and don't know if I can muster up the kind of strength it takes to be excited for another dead end job that I'll be leaving in the span of months.
Beneath of this film covering my personality, I have this strong desire to apply for Emerson's Theatre Education program. However, as you probably have read, my GREs were not up to my standards. And I don't know if they were up to Emerson's. So here is the real push: Emerson decided not to charge an application fee this year due to the recession. Doesn't that sound like a sign that I should apply? All I have to lose is an acceptance, which I can apply for again next year. The truth is, I'm scared to be heartbroken. I'm scared that a rejection would make me believe that I don't belong teaching theatre. I'm also terrified to get in. It's only a 2 year commitment and they have wonderful networking opportunities, so most of their graduates are placed in jobs quickly. I can't guarantee that I'm good at directing... that I even understand all of the elements of theatre, but I do know that directing Orange Flower Water as my senior thesis and heading Stage Company were the best things I've ever done. I know that at the time, there was no question: I knew that what I was doing was what I was meant to do. Now, being away from it all, it feels like a beautiful dream. I've awoken to a person far less courageous than she was in her dreamworld. I want her back. I think that's what all of this traveling has been. I want to find my voice again, my vision. I want to indulge in deep conversation with like-minded people.
I haven't started my application essay. I put it off because I want it to be brilliant. I think about things that cause me passion. I write them down in a little notebook that says "Bold Ideas" on the cover. Peter got it for me for Christmas. I type ideas. I say this phrase in my head again and again and again: "Understand that your opinions are not the truth." I feel connected to it. I feel moved by it. I read it in a psychology magazine. It makes me think, again, about the power of discussion, the power of education. And above all, it makes me think that we're all on the same level- we all have something brilliant to add to the world, something thought-provoking, despite what our GRE scores may say. And I want that. I want to teach and to be taught. And to tell Emerson that they're one in the same. I want to see ideas through someone else's mind, someone newly exposed to them. And the excitement of it hangs like an anvil from my chest. It feels like a heavy treasure that I'm supposed to break off into small manageable pieces. Or maybe it's just fear that all this is an empty hope.
I will write it. I will apply. But first, I will start my new job, take a trip to Blenheim, come home, pack my bags, and move into my new apartment in Mount Cook. Then I'll sigh, a big cleansing sigh, and I'll sit down and I'll write like I mean it. And they'll know I mean it because it will ooze out of my words.
Courage sometimes feels less courageous than I once imagined it.