I started a new workout a couple of weeks ago. Despite the fact that I've been a regular gym-goer (and even arguably a "gym rat"--although that still sounds more hardcore than what I do) since Cabaret last spring, this is the first time I've really followed a strict regimen. I found it online, and it is kicking my sad little tushie. As a goal-oriented person, it's challenging and immensely rewarding. Today is the first day in two weeks that my entire body does not ache from soreness. This implies two things: I can more easily do my job of performing two shows today and I obviously didn't work out hard enough yesterday.
I love stretching and growing. In many ways, I love/hate being a student. Actually, school and I have always had a love/hate relationship. In retrospect (what little of it there is), I loved learning so immensely that I resented having to waste any hours on subjects I knew wouldn't further develop me in the long run. While meteorology was entertaining (since my professor, while knowledgeable, was more inclined to tell jokes in class than teach), I'd rather be in the studio or at a lesson or watching endless videos of hyper-skilled artists.
Part of stretching and growing means hurt and failure. I have literally felt my muscles tear and wobble in agonizing pain. On the other side of this, however, is re-growth. Only two weeks later, I'm healed and feeling stronger than ever.
It's amazing how the body can do that.
This week, I got rejected. There was a show I was looking forward to possibly being considered for, and they didn't want me. Did I have a moment of soul-crushing sadness? Of course. No one wants to be unwanted. There are a million reasons why I didn't get it, but the most likely is: I'm not good enough. Or, I haven't proven to them that I am, in fact, good enough. For the first time in my career, this fact did not induce creativity and life paralysis. A year ago (or even a few months ago?), I would've pined and been miserable and wallowed and endlessly over-examined every tiny possible reason why I wasn't good enough or why I was unwanted. Bizarrely and beautifully, this time, I accepted it. I see reasons why I didn't get the job. Better yet, I haven't auditioned for this company in a year and I know for a fact that I'm better than I was a year ago. In a million ways. I'm savvier about the business, I'm less desperate, I'm stronger, I'm fitter, and I'm more skilled. Am I utterly fabulous and Broadway-ready? HA! Don't make me laugh. But, do I know that I have worked my butt off for a reason and I'm beginning to see those reasons materialize? Yes sir. Furthermore, the gift of working out-of-town has shown me a taste of just how enormous this glorious theatre world is. There are endless possibilities. There are thousands of jobs. Granted, the pool of people going after said jobs is devastatingly huge, but there's room for quite a lot of people in there to do what they love.
The term "thicker skin" has never really resonated with me. I'm definitely tougher than I was (and perhaps more confident?), but my skin is still pale and freckly and distinctively "me." Thanks to the fish oil and biotin I've been taking, it seems healthier. But is it thicker? Don't think so. However, my heart is tougher. I can take it now. Or better, at least. And, as soon as I came to this revelation, my euphoric happiness and new-found pride in my recognized growth immediately trumped any petty sadness over the loss of one potential job.
A dear, dear friend of mine (only your closest friends can say things like this) once said "Katharine, you know you can do it. You just need your confidence to catch up to your ego." Harsh? Um, yes. True? Sure is. As I age, tear, hurt, and rebuild, I think I'm moving in the right direction: ego decreasing, humility and confidence increasing.
Thank you, rejection theater, for this opportunity for growth. And thanks, KB, for handling it like a champ.
There have been times in my brief little career where I've wondered if I was strong enough to hack it, but this week has shown me:
I'm gonna make it after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment