There are moments I catch glimpses of myself in the bathroom mirror at work and really see what I look like in my day-glo orange polo that's tucked into my khaki shorts with my visor on and I think to myself, "Jessica Dean Turner, you're living the dream."
Or I'll be getting yelled at by some shoe salesman in New Jersey who has demanded that "my people" take him off our call list, or I'll be sending out email after email to schedule and reschedule and re-reschedule my life around auditions, rehearsals, and my side job for my side job, and I'll remind myself the same thing.
I wear a lot of hats- or visors, or name tags, or reading glasses and button downs- to support this lifestyle of a young artist. Beyond the buckets of money I'm pulling in (I'll be doing my autumn wardrobe shopping at the laundromat lost and found, and splurging on nothing but the finest dollar menu treats) I'm also getting an untaxed education on what goes into supporting myself in a non-fiscal sense. Here's what I'm doing to support my actor-life that doesn't involve time sheets and sensible shoes:
1) Being more vigilant about the words and concepts I choose to describe my current state:
I am making the conscious effort to no longer describe what I'm doing as a "struggle". Not being able to afford a Starbucks blueberry scone and iced coffee everyday is not a struggle. Being tired because I have a job to wake up to early in the morning is not a struggle; not having one is. This is just new. It's just a different muscle, a different discipline, and as soon as I start allowing myself to slip into the song and dance about how I'm "struggling" is when resentment slips in, and it's a slap in the face to all the things that I am blessed with.
2) It's fine to lie down with Coltrane and a McFlurry when things are hard for a little while, but you have to get back up:
I have no delusions about the fact that things aren't always fair, people will let you down, feelings will be hurt, and things are just sometimes plain discouraging. I'm an optimist, but I ain't crazy. I know that things aren't and cannot alway be as rosy as I'd like and there are days where all I'll want to do is come in from the Blue Line, shut down, and try again in a decade or so. I'm learning that hiding behind strength and put-on positivity when you're hurting is just as detrimental as wallowing in your bad day, with no plans of resurfacing. In my last NPR binge, I heard the quote, "The heart that does not get the chance to break can only harden." I do a good job of finding the good, but sometimes the best service you can do for yourself is setting down your venerable load, having the hurt, and rising again, richer despite only have $3.53 in your checking.
3) Reminding myself that, "It's not a race, Jessica, don't try to keep up with anybody but yourself":
I'm taking myself to task on measuring my own progress by my own means, not avidly looking over the fence at what anyone else is doing; the neighbor's grass will always be greener if you spend all your time watching there's and not watering your own. Stay in your lane, pray for, support, be inspired by the work of others, but don't drive yourself crazy and miserable counting anyone else's blessings. If anything, steal from them.
4) Letting go. Not everything and everyone can make the trip with you:
One of the more bitter pills to swallow is that in support of myself, I'm taking some inventory on ideas that were once comfortable but are no longer serving me, things I at one time accepted despite the fact that they don't benefit me, situations that never lived up to their potential. Gotta bag and twist tie all them insecurities, all that self-doubt and deprecating attitudes, the fears, and throw it away. Forgive, and get out. Bag lady, you gon hurt yo back draggin' all them bags like that. I'm giving myself the gift of release, trying to. My apartment's too tiny for all that mess, I barely have the space for the things I actually need.
5) Treating the people in my life that I love like I love them: self-explanatory. To feel loved give it. Often. To those who deserve it.
My director recently asked me about my new apartment, and in my automaton Midwestern way, I replied "It's really nice." Then I paused, and corrected myself. "No, that's not true." I'm writing this from the busted couch on the back porch with the breeze blowing through the windows lined with Rex Goliath bottles, next to the mini-picture of the Dali painting of the melted clocks. No, this place isn't perfect, by any means. It's messy, and for right now, exactly what I need. It's mine. For the moment, the best thing I can do to support myself, is own where I am, be right there with it as it evolves in whatever way it does.
Til then, I better lay out my khakis and polo for the morning.
Viva la day job.
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