You’re 33 years old. Have stepped completely out of the closet for the first time in your life not too long ago. You find yourself surrounded by familiar friends, and family, some who don’t seem to understand that you’re not the same person you once were, and this is okay. You’re also still yourself, and there’s no desire to escape that anymore in this newfound freedom. Since you didn’t have the resources, and let’s face it- talent, to go off to a big school pursuing your dream of becoming an actress, you refocus on something much more valuable: how to exist in this world as a working person, and how to enjoy it.
Some friends have stuck with it, their arts degrees and dream-made pursuits. Some friends have found their ways back to it in some form or fashion. I worked. And I worked, and I worked, and I worked, with nary a moment to spare.
In school, I was overly independent, and then overly codependent when I stumbled into a clique formed from theatre. After high school, I found myself grieving as I was suddenly alone and not following through with the fuel that gave me hope in years past. My regular activities included writing in coffee shops, mountain biking, and visiting my local library to check out whichever Kate Winslet movie they had available. When I stepped into the Disney College Program, which was some of the hardest physical work and most fun I’ve had, I spent my free time going to the gym, and reading/tanning by our lake; sometimes going to the parks for a long walk & people-watching if I was feeling particularly patient.
By some grace of God, I applied for and was accepted to the University of Georgia while I was finishing up my second program at Disney. Wasn’t sure of what to study, so I eventually landed on Communication Studies with a minor in Theatre, because I knew I liked both of these things; and frankly, they didn’t have any sort of study abroad program associated with a large tuition cost that I had to worry about funding alongside attendance. And I loved it. Again, spent every free moment studying in a coffee shop or library, socializing/networking with new and old connections alike, volunteering locally for theaters, art shows, elementary & high schools, working part-time in hospitality out of curiosity & necessity, participating in leadership programs and leading administrative efforts for clubs in my college, exercising in our campus gym nearly every day, and exposing myself to the practice of buddhism… I was certainly exhausted but liked staying active, and liked my roommates knowing not to depend on my presence as I had a limited amount of time to experience a lot in this culturally rich town, and know how quick I am to platonically link up with another - I am a twin, after all.
New York City had always been the goal, and was lucky to be hired by Yelp out of college - they gave me a small relocation stipend, and I didn’t give my parents much choice. Had some generous friends not only welcome me into their social worlds up there, but gave me a couch to crash on as I found the right space, and helped me secure another part-time job (working on Broadway!) (selling merch,) which scratched a specifically magical itch. Must admit that my time in New York, about 13 months, is sort of a blur - it was busy. I lived a lot of life. While it was exciting, I remember being in my room in my shared Brooklyn brownstone apartment before heading off to an event thinking, “I wish I could just stay home…”
My body was sore, my shoes were filthy, the streets smelled of days-old vomit & piss, and I often didn’t have the gumption to bike instead of subway, so I spent a lot of time waiting for trains—until eventually I rediscovered the joy of long walks.
Had started coming out of the closet as a gay woman to new friends, but in reality, my sexuality was a distant idea I had to continue verbalizing and come into. It was something I had long since categorized, compartmentalized, and shut away, because I felt wrong—that pain is ridonkulous. Dated the tiniest amount, but wasn’t ready. Still had some understanding of myself to do before I shared.
So yes, I moved back down south to Atlanta because some friends & family strongly encouraged the path amidst my unknowing of what to do, and I worked, and I worked, and I worked. Followed advice given to me by professionals I looked up to in my industry. Kept doing comedy because I love it. Was super lucky to find Theatre Administration (particularly Arts Marketing) and loved the work.
When I got back home, I found out that my twin brother had attempted suicide. This changes us. Particularly as someone who was very hard on this twin brother, and took out a lot of her own self-hate on him; this changes a person. Flunked out of NYC, almost lost my twin brother, and faced some bullies; which was a good mirror for some of my own past behaviors. As a little kid you have this little pure heart but are listening to the voices around you; those perspectives craft how you see the world. And that hurts, from many directions. With age, I have put in a lot of work to decipher what is mine and what is others’.
So I worked, and I worked, and I worked; and it looked a little different this time. Instead of chasing something outside of myself, I learned to sit with me—I learned to listen to myself. Not just the following through of my own solo adventures, but a step-by-step uncovering of who I am beneath neuroses and unintentional games & tests, rebuilding a self aligning with some sort of integrity—something innate, who was here the whole time. And this didn’t happen by my own brilliant revelation—it came from putting my value in the hands of some folks who didn’t need it. Perhaps some folks who had already done this work on themselves. Perhaps some folks who are just cruel, is the fear.
This grieving process was a bit different. It was slow, and it was long, and it was filled with so much anger. An anger that comes from realizing how long, particularly as a woman—a queer woman from the south who came from little resources—that I had been gaslit into not believing in myself as someone who deserves to be here.
Women are powerful. Good folks who choose a purpose beyond their own ego are who I aspire to be more like. I have no respect for someone who preaches one thing publicly and does something totally different behind closed doors. For instance: take accountability, apologize, and change. Better yet: practice real empathy. It is okay to be kind, assholes.
An earth-shattering lesson: Listen. to. yourself. And if you’re feeling extra bold: align.
I am not who I once was… and yet, I am wholly more myself. Peace.
