The Critic

I am too young to be in Title of Show. Someday, like in 10 years, when I’m 30 and it’s become slightly period in the way that RENT has except less monumentally and quasi-historically/message-y, I’ll play Heidi. And I’ll be right and I’ll belt my little face off and life will be grand. There is a reason I am out of town for auditions (and callbacks for that matter.) There is a reason I can’t audition. I’m not going to ask to audition early or late, but rather take it as a sign.

I don’t think this is me chickening out. I’m pretty sure it’s not. Whatever.

My thoughts are driving me exceptionally insane tonight. It probably stems from this terribly immature place, but I have an insane desire to prove myself. I know that’s natural instinct for a twenty year old in any creative field, but I really feel it tonight.

If we’re going to be completely honest…Wouldn’t you love to have something to fall back on? Like you screw up something small—don’t get a role or callback or can’t go to the audition—or you get a crappy review—and you’re like “It’s okay. Because I did this.”

Like if there were some way that I could contribute to my craft not in some transient performance as an actress, but a piece—a play or documentary or film.

I just saw Up in the Air (again. and again) and Anna Kendrick’s character makes the argument about how men have to have their name on something—a plane or a boat or a building. And it’s because of mortality and it’s singular to men because they don’t have babies. Well I don’t want babies, so I guess it’s natural to want to have some other sort of legacy.

You know what it is? It’s a reason for being. I feel like if I’m not contributing something to art or the world, I’m worthless.

I mean what is the point? What good am I here if I’m not even doing anything.

Why criticize if you’re not helping? Why not take criticism if you won’t improve?

Nothing is making sense right now. My head is full of absolute crap and I’m driving myself crazy running in circles here. I want I want I want.

I’m selfish.

That’s human nature.

But no one thinks it should be. Or maybe people know it is, but they don’t talk about it. Hypocrites. Is anything altruistic? Isn’t everything self motivated?

But ultimately doesn’t that make sense? It’s your life—no one else’s. Why wouldn’t you use it the way you want to?

So what is the best way to use it? What I am here for? What good is my companionship to someone? Who cares if I write articles about how much I love art? Who cares if I’m giving mediocre performances in shows around town? Who cares if once upon a time I directed a couple of things? Who cares that I’m twenty?

I can’t create anything original. School has taught me to be so damn critical that it’s all I know to do. Criticize criticize criticize. Nothing’s ever good enough. You’re never good enough. Why bother improving? It’s not like you’ll ever be the best.

I know so many brilliant people in the world and I have seen such brilliant art. I’m not a part of that. I’m an observer. That’s not good enough.