The One About Neediness and Comparison.

I keep putting off blogging.

I actually have two posts sitting in my drafts that are pretty much complete that I just keep putting off publishing.

I'm afraid that what I have to say may concern or worry those I love, and I don't want that. And I realize that sentence alone may have done just that.

Here's the deal... I want people reading this to know that I AM A HAPPY PERSON. Even right now. Sometimes happy people go through hard times... that does NOT mean they hate their lives or where they are and so on.

I'm in a weird place. There. I said it.

As of four days ago, I have lived in New York for six months. As of four days ago, I have attended 32 auditions. I have performed at six bars/cabarets/competitions. I have been called back for one show. I have scraped by financially. I have paid over $4,200 in rent alone. I have paid over $500 in Metrocard fees. I have continued to pay for my student loans, gym membership, groceries, headshot prints, resumes, classes, sheet music, audition clothes, winter wear, etc. I have felt so lonely that I have fallen apart numerous times. I have considered going back to Utah twice to audition for/submit for shows there.

I have never needed love like I need it here and now. I'm not talking about romance. That's never really been the most important thing in my life. I'm talking about brotherly, rational and irrational, close, unconditional love. I'm talking about love as a force of nature. I've never felt like I'm grappling for it like I am now. I'm almost 27 years old and need to be loved. Everybody needs it, I know. And the truth is, I don't suppose I'm loved any less by my friends and family. I just need it more. I am needy. And I hate that.

This neediness rears its head in many forms: overcompensation, jealousy, anger, sadness, quiet, and so on. At one point, I assumed this was part of depression. I've since gotten past that.

So where did this neediness come from? A lot of things, I think: the difficulty in making friends here, the lack of success I'm having in my craft, the lack of connection I have with people in general. I feel very out of the loop with the rest of the world, but I also feel like I'm right smack in the middle of the chaos of it.

I walk out of my apartment daily and always, at some point, look around and think, "I actually live here," and I'm proud of that fact and happy about it and excited about it. I find new things to see and explore everyday. So what's the problem, Angela?

I think it comes down to this: nothing quite seems to be in my control right now.

My heart literally aches to do a show. ACHES. I even took a train to a community theatre in White Plains to audition for a show there. I didn't care that it would cost me $17 to get there for the auditions/callbacks and each rehearsal. I didn't care that it would leave me practically broke if I was cast. I just wanted to do something that made me feel as wonderful as performing in a show makes me feel.

Basically what I'm getting around to saying is... life is hard. Even more, New York is hard. Literally harder than I could have ever imagined. To those considering the move, I wish there was some way to prepare you for how hard it is. I wish someone could have prepared me for it. I don't really know for sure if it's this hard for everyone, although I can't imagine it wouldn't be. But perhaps how emotional of a person I am is contributing to how difficult all of this seems.

Ask my mom, I am the Queen of Comparison. I don't know where it started, but I've just always, always compared myself to those around me: not just in negative ways, no, but most often, yes. This happens to a lot of people, though, doesn't it? I think it's also something that is very prominent in the performing/theatre arts industry. We compare our work and our successes to those before us or alongside us. It's a very competitive business, so Queen of Comparison here has plenty of like company.

It's gotten just HORRIBLE since I moved out here, and here's why:
I'm not a model. I'm not a "looker." I don't have a memorable face or sharp features that make me stick out. I'm built like an Amazon woman. I have big feet and broad shoulders, a button nose, squinty eyes, big arms, a big noggin, straight eyebrows, and a round face. I was literally told at one audition that I wasn't "pretty enough." There is an incredible fixation on looks in this industry, and I'm just learning how to be okay with it. I have to be okay with it if I'm going to stick with it. And dammit, I'm going to stick with it.

The women that I audition with are not only incredibly talented singers and actors, but they also look like goddesses, Barbies, and beauty queens.

I talked myself out of an audition one morning. Okay, so it's happened every now and then since I've been here. This is how it usually occurs: when my alarm goes off at 5:00 or 6:00 AM, I turn off the piercing noise. I stare at the bright screen on my phone for a while and usually utter out loud, "Oh my gosh," because of how tired I feel. That is then followed by the thought, no one should be up this early. Ever. Then I weigh the audition itself in my mind...

Is it worth my time?
Will they even see me?
Am I right for the role?
Is my song choice good enough?
Do I feel fat?
Am I skinny enough?
Am I pretty enough?
Will they even care?
Will they even look up?
Will there be tons of others there better than me?

This one morning in particular sticks out more than others because it was an audition I'd been looking forward to and preparing for for some time. I even made myself up completely, curled my hair, walked out the door of my apartment, got on the train, trudged those six blocks and walked right up to the building. I had the perfect song and a smile on my face. All before 6:30 AM, too.

But I didn't stop when I got up to the building... nope. I just kept walking... right past every single person already in line. In those short seconds upon approaching the crowd, I did a once-over of all of the ridiculously beautiful women in line and told myself I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of catching anyone's eye in that audition room, and that's if I would even be seen. I went to the gym, signed up for a membership, and went home without looking back. I put my pajamas back on, wiped off all my makeup, put my freshly curled hair in a messy bun on top of my head, and crawled back into bed to sleep the day away.

A lyric from a show comes to mind: "A vampire is any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self-expression."

I am and have been my own personal vampire. Have I been doing the work? Yes. Definitely. But have I ever gone into an audition free of doubt and, instead, full of self-love and belief in myself? Have I ever not looked at or listened to those other women and not thought about running out of the building screaming? No. There have been moments of self-love and believing, but the comparison factor always outweighs those moments.

If you've ever noticed, it doesn't matter how many people you have on your side cheering you on... if you aren't on your side, you can't get past "go." So this all comes full-circle... why am I so needy of love? Because I'm not giving myself the love from myself that I deserve... and so I'm grappling for it from others more than usual.

The human mind wants and almost needs to compare or rank. Our minds naturally want to know where we fit into the scheme of things. So we need to give those crazy minds something to do. I need to give my crazy mind something to do.

I have expressed before my unwillingness to stand stagnant. When I say I'm going to do something, I do it... little by little, perhaps, but eventually, I will do it. I'm not a talker; I'm a doer. We are always becoming more. Older, wiser, more experienced, etc., and who we are today is a direct result of yesterday's experiences, of previous experiences. We are always creating, always expanding, always fulfilling something.

I had this thought today. I don't know if it's possible to train my mind to stop comparing altogether, but perhaps this is a possibility: why not choose to modify the comparison to a former version of myself and keep the comparison within who I am becoming?

Listen, I know it sounds cheesy, but this is real stuff here. Too often we compare ourselves with someone else who we perceive as doing, having, or being more, being better.

And this just leaves us, or at least me, coming up short.

Unless that "someone else" is just myself. Unless I decide to look at who I was yesterday and say, "That's right. I am a better Angela Jeffries today than I was yesterday. And I'm going to be a better Angela Jeffries tomorrow than I am today."

Realistically, I know it's not that easy to stop comparing myself to others. But I feel this is a healthy and good place to start.

This idea allows me to be uplifted by comparison rather than weakened, hurt, or hindered by it. This teaches me to love myself and take care of myself and reflect on myself, rather than look at others and envy, desire or wish for what they have. Instead of submitting to the temptation of comparing myself to the beautiful blonde standing in line who will soon belt her face off, I will ask myself: Am I doing something today that I could not have done five years ago, two years ago, six months ago, one month ago? Have I done things in the past six months that I thought impossible before? Have I stopped engaging in negative behavior that I never thought I could avoid? Am I doing what I said I would do? YES!

In short, am I daily becoming an improved version of myself?

Absolutely.

The only person I should try to be better than is the person I was yesterday. I can handle that. And, as hard as it is out here, I am handling that. I'm handling it better today than I was yesterday, and I'll handle it better tomorrow than I am today.

The One at the Library.

Ever since I was little-bitty, I have been full of emotions. For a long time, the only emotion that really reared its head was tearful or sad. I think I remember sharing once that I cried everyday of my life until I was fourteen years old. I remember very clearly the day that I didn't cry for the first time, and I remember almost crying because I was so happy that I didn't cry that day but then I didn't cry because I wanted it to be the first day that I didn't. (Didja get all that?) I gave my parents a hard time from day one.

Over the years, my emotions have remained strong, but they have taken on many forms, more than just tearful or sad: cheerful, overjoyed, excited, giddy, anxious, nervous, angry, frustrated, glee.

I remember having a conversation back when I was 17 years old with my then boyfriend: "Why do you do this to yourself? You make your life harder because you put your heart out there for anyone to mess with." That comment led to an argument, of course, which led to me crying about it. Maybe he's right, I thought.

I've gotten a million times better over the years with the crying, fortunately, and now I look at my emotional capabilities as a blessing. I will not apologize for feeling things as deeply as I do. It allows me to fully experience things as a completely invested human being. I'm not just talking about crying, you must understand. I'm talking about watching a movie or show or reading a book and feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my chest because I can't wait to see or read or hear what happens next. I'm talking about getting cast in a show in a dream role and feeling like I could take on the world. I'm talking about hearing from or seeing my friends or family and wanting to squeal with glee because I love them so much. I'm talking about those types of things. And I don't think I'm alone in this... right?

Now, I suppose there are some people that are the opposite and who look at their lack of emotionality as a blessing, and that's fine. And occasionally, I wish I weren't as invested as I tend to be. Sometimes, it might be easier or less tiring to just not have to worry about feeling so strongly.

At the beginning of this week, I ventured to this beautiful place.

Yes, this picture is from my iPhone, and YES, it really is that beautiful.

You may have seen this facility - whether it be this room or the building's exterior - featured in such films as The Wiz, Ghostbusters, Sex in the City or The Day After Tomorrow. I have been meaning to head this way for some time now just to see the place and finally did. I've also been meaning to apply for a library card (since I have a NY address), so I did that, too. As the receptionist handed the card to me, she said with a smile, "As a New York resident, your library card is good for three years. Enjoy."

Three years. Holy crap.

Then it dawned on me: it's been over three months that I have lived here. I've said it before and I'll say it again: THAT'S IT?!

I have gone to 21 auditions, whether I've been seen or not. I have moved into my first place, moved out of it, and moved into my new place. I have walked hundreds of miles, I'm sure. I have performed at a bar twice. I have worked and worked. I have played. I have explored. I have eaten. I have worked out. I have sweat bullets. I have trudged through the rain. I have gotten sunburned. I have gained far too much leg-muscle. I have had far too much pizza. I have spotted celebrities. I have gone on dates. I have gone on adventures. I have seen so many shows and concerts. I have started building my website. I have pulled videos for my demo reel. I have made friends. I have climbed thousands of steps. I have ridden hundreds of trains. I have had picnics. I have gone to parties. I have karaoke-d the night away. I have spent a week with my best friend.  I have watched sunrises over Manhattan. I have watched the sun set. I have played games. I have had heart-to-hearts. I have missed my Utah friends more than I ever imagined. I have missed my family more. I have been a tour guide. I have pretended to know my way around. I have I have laughed so hard I could cry. I have gotten phone calls informing me that my apartment building caught on fire. I have lived through my apartment catching on fire. I have been misquoted, misunderstood, misjudged. I have cooked. I have cleaned. I have slapped a pigeon. I have learned that cereal can be a food group. I've memorized subway routes and bus schedules. I have watched movies, independently and with friends. I have been followed home, once by an evangelist and once by a creeper. I have explored rooftops. I have watched puppet shows in Central Park. I have stopped to pet hundreds of dogs. I have bawled my eyes out. I have gotten so mad I can't see straight. I have felt lonely. I have felt fulfilled. I have been overwhelmed. I have had the highest highs and the lowest lows in just three months.

You get the point, I'm guessing.

It never seemed like time passed so slowly when I was living anywhere else. It seemed like it just flew by so quickly.

And I think I know why. It's the emotional investment. I realized this as I was walking to the library earlier this week. I am LIVING life fully every single day. This place won't let you do otherwise. To walk across the street can be an adventure, let alone ride a train crosstown. Living life fully can mean a lot of things, I'm learning. It's not just about walking outside and breathing in the cool air and just living optimistically with a big ol' smile plastered on your face. No, it's about just experiencing each day and each second as it is meant to be felt, and that can mean whatever it means to you. Sometimes things can really suck. I mean, that's a fact. But you're going to feel what you feel. And as a friend said to me the other day, "Don't feel bad for being sad. Feel it, nurture yourself, learn something from it, and then when you're ready, be happy."

Did you know that, at an individual-occupant-per-home percentage of 50.6 (with more than three-quarters of that fifty-percent being under the age of 65), Manhattan is the capital of people living alone?

I'd also like to add that it might be the capital of people living lonely. We pass new people on the streets daily and make no connection with them. Customer service is practically non-existent. Cordiality between two people is even hard to come by.

Before I moved here, I didn't understand the lyrics in the age-old song, "New York, New York," sung by Frank Sinatra: "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. It's up to you." But I get it now. I absolutely 100% get it. The loneliness.

I'm not an unsociable person, but I'm not exactly a social butterfly, either. I'm a people-watcher over a talker. I enjoy listening to people rather than talking, but I very much enjoy the company of a good group of people. And I suppose I've made some nice friends here.

But, again, I don't have my closest friends here or my sweet family. I have me. And that's pretty much it. This place is a very "me" place, a very selfish city. I moved here for me, to further my career, so that I could pursue performing. I just never expected the loneliness to be this strong. I find myself living for moments with friends that live here that I knew before I got here. I think the best way that I can explain it is this: I love to just be able to be Angela without having to explain who Angela is. While I do know that I can and am allowed to be myself around people I meet, I just don't like feeling like I have to explain my quirks, weirdness, personality traits, et cetera and so on and so forth and yadda yadda.

So yes, here's the truth: I'm lonely.

Lonely in this mecca of 8.245 million people, and I am feeling it fully. It is making me more grateful to have the friends and family I do, I will say that much, even if they are far away. It's hard to imagine that when my library card expires in three years, I will have a circle of loved ones here that might be just as strong as those far away. Part of it is about finding the balance of being myself and somehow putting myself out there at the same time. It's about allowing myself to make the friends instead of just dwelling on missing the ones that are far from me. It's about, again and again, patience.

Everything about this place is about patience: patience to audition, patience to walk behind tourists in Times Square on the way to work, patience to let friendships grow the way that they are meant to grow and not push them along or aside, even when the patience is running low.

Lonely or not, I still know that I am in the right place. It's a terrible, wonderful city, this New York, and I really don't think I'd have it any other way.

The One About Celine Dion and the YMCA.

One summer when Martha and I were very young, my mom signed us up for a week of day camp at the YMCA in Waxahachie, Texas. (This camp was also where I learned what a "Christian" was and that I actually am one, if that gives you any inkling of how young I really was.) We'd never been to anything like it before and really had no idea what to expect... except that it was going to be "so fun," Mom said.

We got official camp t-shirts, new shorts and shoes, and Mom packed our lunches. The night before the camp started, I remember Martha and I twiddling our thumbs all night long. We were so looking forward to YMCA Summer Day Camp. We were going to make new friends and play games and swim and learn new things and eat Lunchables (this was a luxury to us). We were up all night long because we could hardly handle the excitement. I even remember Mom waking up and realizing we were awake as well. She laughed and said, "Did you girls sleep at all?"

That's one of the two times I ever remember that happening.

The only other time was Christmas Eve 1999 when I knew I was going to get Celine Dion's "All the Way... a Decade of Song" CD (Martha spoiled the surprise - sorry, Mom). I had watched Celine's concert featuring the songs on the CD in November and was highly anticipating holding that disc in my hands come Christmas Day. It seemed like ages before the sun rose with enough excuse to wake Roy, Martha, Mom and Dad up. I lived for what the morning held. I needed those late-90's jams.

Of course I tore away the festive paper and there she was. Celine did not disappoint (she never did). The agony of those eight hours waiting for everyone to wake up was totally worth it.

Today, I have officially been in the city for two months. These two months have been a roller coaster of feelings, the highest highs and the lowest lows. And I know I ain't seen nothin' yet.

WARNING: You are about to enter into the Red Zone. The Red Zone isn't happy-go-lucky or even optimistic. I'm not holding anything back. Sometimes hard things happen, and I feel safe sharing it here. But at the end of the Red Zone is optimism. I promise.

A week ago Thursday, I was in the dumps. I feel like, before that day, I'd been able to look at things and keep a fire burning in me because "trials make us stronger" and that "it's all part of the process." But I was so sad, so lonely, so over it. That day, my friend Dalton and I had a short conversation over text. He asked, "How are you?" I said, "I'm in a mood." He said, "Can I call you later?" I said, "Sure."

Just an hour or two later, he did call, but I missed it. (And part of me thinks I was supposed to miss it, because now I have this voicemail saved on my phone that I won't be deleting.) In short, he said this: "I don't want you to be bummed. And maybe this has nothing to do with it, but I feel like I should just remind you about patience... I know you're away from your friends and you miss them, but you have people that love you, and the things that you're starting here, in even just a few months... you're going to look back and be like, 'this happened so fast.' It's gonna be great. Just keep observing and learning on your way there." I listened to it again tonight to quote it, and I grinned because I have one hell of a friend.

I went to sleep late that night and woke up after an hour or so feeling horribly sick. I had cold sweats and was throwing up. So... I was sad, lonely, over it, and sick as a dog. I spent the entire following day in bed, only getting up to use the restroom or force down some crackers and water. I read a little bit. I watched a movie. But most of the day I just sat on my thoughts.

I laid in bed and nitpicked every audition I'd gone to and reasoned with myself why I wasn't called back. I made it all personal. I laid in bed and asked myself if I'm crazy for being here. I laid there and cried. I told myself I wasn't pretty enough or skinny enough or charming enough or talented enough or lucky enough or empowering enough or perky enough or nice enough. I told myself I just wasn't enough and that I didn't deserve it. And I let that idea trickle into every other aspect of my life, too: friendships and relationships, spirituality, dating, you name it.

I also came to the sad conclusion that things weren't exciting me in my life. I wasn't letting myself get excited about auditions anymore because I would either be turned away from the audition entirely or nothing would come of it. I wasn't excited about dating. I wasn't excited to see my friends because my closest friends aren't here. I wasn't excited about work. I wasn't excited about singing because my voice was killing me.

I. Wasn't. Excited. And I have always had something to be excited about. But suddenly, in a day's time, I was indifferent about life.

The truth? It was an absolutely toxic day in the life of Angela Jeffries. The last time I'd had a day like that, truly, was over seven years ago. I've had hard days, sure, but not wallowing days. Not toxic ones.

It's always hard to bounce back from being sick, everyone knows that. This was no exception. Come Saturday, I wasn't throwing up anymore, but I was exhausted, negative, sad, lonely, and still over it. And I still wasn't enough. For anyone or anything.

I remember thinking before I came out here that there might come a time when I would hit a wall. Well, it happened. And I took a few days of beating my head against said wall, but then I was desperate to climb over it.

Last Friday was damaging, but not irreparable. I wallowed for several days. Yesterday, though, I made a conscious decision to smile more, to be more positive, to look up at the buildings, to just be okay with just being, and to cut myself some slack. I also made a very conscious decision to say to myself, corny as this may sound, "You are enough. You will always be enough."

And then the most amazing thing happened: I woke up this morning with a pep in my step that I haven't had since the first day I arrived in New York when I got off that plane. I woke up wanting to seek out every audition I could. I woke up wanting to connect with my friends here. I woke up wanting to explore more. When I woke up this morning, I was better. I am better. I AM EXCITED.

Things here are hard; I've emphasized that before. But I know that there is something just around the corner, though the corner may be months or years or decades or worlds away. I don't know when or what; I can't know... but I am going to just seize the day and stop worrying about it. (I am SUCH a feeler, and I recognize that all of this could just be viewed as cliche hoopla to some... but I'm really not going to worry about that, either.)

Just like those sleepless nights I had when I was younger with day camp and Celine Dion, I am awake in the middle of the night DYING to reach morning and the gift or the fun that is there. It's so close I can taste it, but I have to be patient. My agonizing over the hours spent waiting won't make things move along any faster. In fact, the agonizing might even slow things down.

I'll know that I am enough. I'll take the hard things as they come and relish in what I might learn from them, just like Dalton said. I will allow them to excite me, because whatever "morning" is, (and I expect to experience "morning" and "Celine Dion" and "day camp" over and over again in more things than just performing; I expect it in love, in friendships, in spirituality, in family, in every little thing), I know that the time it takes to get there will be totally worth it.

The One Where I LIVE HERE.

I counted the days this morning, and my jaw dropped. How is it that I have only been here for only 47 days when it feels like 47 weeks? I feel like I have experienced so much that I can't possibly have been here for less than two months. NOT EVEN TWO MONTHS. I am shaking my head as I type this because it's still so crazy to me.

That's the best word I can put to it. I am experiencing adventures each and everyday: some big, some small, some teeny-tiny.

When you first move to New York City, as I've said before, you have to hit the ground running. There's no learning to crawl or walk in this place unless you're cool with being trampled. I haven't spent an entire day at home since I got here. I haven't avoided the train stations for an entire day. I really haven't stopped to take a breath. Today is no exception. I've been going since 8:00 AM and won't stop moving until midnight at the earliest. Now, I say that and I've found the time to sit down and do this - some days, the go-go-go-ness (made that up, ©) isn't really go-go-go-ness (©) so much as I'm just away from home all day long. It's not something I'm horribly used to. I would have days like this before I moved out here, but nothing this constant. It's just busy. And hard. And even scary sometimes!

Today is one of those days when everything just starts tumbling down on you. Everything. The joys, the fear, the frustrations, the excitement, the nervousness, the giddy feelings, the nostalgia, the feelings of inadequacy. You name it; today I've felt it. And truthfully, all of it points to one simple statement: I live here.

I am full of joy because I am here, just as I knew I would be.
I am full of fear because I don't know where I'm going.
I am full of frustrations because I want to know where I'm going.
I am full of excitement because I don't know where I'm going.
I am full of nervousness because I don't know where I'm going.
I am full of giddy feelings because I don't know where I'm going.
I am full of nostalgia because I don't have the people around to tell me where I'm going. My, how I miss my friends. I ache for their company on a regular basis.
I am full of feelings of inadequacy because I don't know where the hell I'm going.

You get the drift, I assume. It was bound to happen... and 47 days into my adventure here, I am bowled over by so many freakin' feelings. But Angela, you always have a lot of feelings. Yes, I know. But not like this: not all at once. I even allowed myself a good fifteen-second come-apart this afternoon. Am I embarrassed? Not one bit.

Wonderful things are happening here, which is where the joy and the excitement and the giddiness come in. I am meeting and getting to know some special people that I already know are going to be a part of my life for a long while and rekindling and strengthening friendships at the same time. Making friends can be hard and sometimes a bit tiring (or is it just me?), but absolutely, positively worth it.

I got to spend the 4th of July with some of these wonderful people. I had a moment that night as we all watched the Macy's fireworks show over the Hudson River: I REALLY DO LIVE HERE. And I love here.

This city has won my heart in so many ways. The oddities don't freak me out as much anymore. I laugh at them mostly. It's a quirky place, this big ol' city.

I got evangelized to on the way home one night. A young lady named Rose pulled out her Bible and wanted to tell me about why she believed God is a woman. She followed me from the N/Q/R train at 59th Street all the way to the entrance of my apartment building. Rose was such a nice girl, probably 18 years old, and just wanted someone to listen.

I slapped a pigeon one morning. Yes. Slapped. The little buggers are everywhere, and they are fearless, letting you walk within centimeters of them before they flutter off to poop on an innocent pedestrian. I was walking to my train before an audition and there he was: he was pecking at a pizza crust someone had thrown on the crosswalk. I tried to veer around him, and he must've had the same idea because he flew up right toward my face. In a bit of panic, I swatted at him. Apparently my aim is quite good because my palm came right in contact with the breast of that pigeon. I walked jaw agape for a while.

I went and saw Stephanie J. Block at Birdland on July 8th. I have heard of and wanted to attend a concert at Birdland for forever, so I jumped at the opportunity and went on a date with myself. I sat at the bar and let myself pretend like the concert was just for me. It was incredible.

I sang at a bar on the 10th. I had applied (via video audition) a while back for something on Backstage called "So You Think You Can Sing?" and got an email asking if I would come be a part of the competition held at the Cash Bar. I didn't know what to expect, and certainly laughed when I walked up to the door and saw that the bar entrance was hidden behind a fake, out-of-order ATM and had "3/4" in its address. I'm singing there again in the "finals" at the end of the month.

I attended Broadway Barks in Shubert Alley on July 13th. I was working all day, so it was convenient to just walk across the street during the show and hold a puppy or two... or six.

I finally went and saw Matilda. While Pippin is still my favorite thing I've seen here, Matilda didn't disappoint. There were some truly magical moments and some ridiculously talented performers in the show. And at a whopping $27 to see it, I can't complain one iota.

I have gotten to reconnect with a couple of Utah friends who have come to visit and found that they've given me a kick in the pants and that extra boost to re-excite me about what I'm doing here because they truly believe in me.

I have started to put together a mass-submission for agencies in the city. I have to add a few things to each of the SIXTY submissions before I put them in the mail. I am determined for someone to take me on.

I got myself some business cards because I am a business, especially now.

I've gone to seven auditions since I got here. l have not been seen at two of the seven, and I've not been called back for a single one where I was seen. This is humbling, to say the least. I am learning new things at each and every audition and, in hindsight, I am and will be thrilled by that fact.

One of my favorite things that I keep telling myself in all of this is something I actually saw as a tattoo on someone's back my first week here, believe it or not. Classy, I know, but I say go big or go home. The tattoo read, "Fall down seven times, get up eight."

And here I am, standing up for the eighth and possibly ninth and tenth time as I head into another audition on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday of this next week. Fall down ninety-nine times, get up a hundred.

These adventures are visceral. I am living in moments and loving every single scary, hard, frustrating, exciting, giddy, joyous moment because I LIVE HERE.

The One That's Super Cheesy.

Angela, what are your favorite foods?

All things coconut.
All things peanut butter.
All things cheese. Especially cheese.

And since I love cheese so much, I'm just going to pour some cheese all over this post. If you're annoyed with sappiness, walk away now; the ending might make you throw up.

I am captivated by the idea of the five languages of love. This topic has come up in several different conversations over the past couple of weeks especially, and I can't help but wonder why it's so prevalent right now.

(I've talked about this in a post before. If you don't know what this is or what yours is/are, go here. Read about it and take the assessment!)

The interesting thing is that sometimes the way that we give love is different from the way we want to receive love. At least for me. Which is a little hypocritical, isn't it?

Let me explain.

I prefer to receive love in this order:
Words of Affirmation
Quality Time
Physical Touch
Acts of Service
Gifts

However, I prefer to give love in this order:
Gifts
Acts of Service
Quality Time
Physical Touch
Words of Affirmation

Why is it that the one way I prefer to receive love is the most difficult for me to express or give? And why is it that the one way I prefer to give love is the one way that I care least for?

I know this, and I have been trying to be better about it in my day-to-day life. And to do so genuinely.

I am a gift-giver. I always have been. Christmas, birthdays, for any reason at all, I love to spoil the people that I love and care for. Sometimes, I even have to tell myself to take it easy, as my pocketbook won't thank me for all those gifts later. I guess I have this idea in my head that if my expression of love is materialized in a thoughtful gift, there's no question or doubt that I care for them so deeply.

In stating that, I recognize that the difficulty I have in giving Words of Affirmation comes directly from pride. Literally I just figured this out. I am afraid or too puffed up or too aloof to say, "Hey, you're one cool guy/girl." I think these things, but it takes some serious inner-monologuing for it to actually emerge through physical expression, written or spoken.

I am a very emotional person, a very expressive person. I always have been. So where did this come from?

Gifts are easy. 

Words, however, can be picked and poked and dissected and reformed and twisted and manipulated. It's happened to me. It's happened to many people. But that's a scary thought, so why not just avoid the possibility altogether?

To give a gift is an action, right? And don't actions speak louder than words?

Not necessarily. 

There is an intangible concept that can speak louder than something that can be held in one’s hand. Hearing the words, “I love you," or "You are awesome," or any form of this are so important for the development of our characters — hearing the reasons behind that love is priceless. And, therefore, a gift in and of itself. A delicate, utopian, soothing, cherished and treasured gift.

I have been sitting on that statement (in the picture above) for a long time and have never, ever found it more true for me than it is right now. 

Occasionally (and I mean very rarely, so don't anyone worry about me), it can get really lonely here. I am lucky enough to have known a couple of people before I moved, and I've latched onto them. But still, to up and leave so many people I'm closest to and to come to a city where I know almost no one is scary and a little sad. There are days when I get misty-eyed thinking about them. It's easy to get down on yourself here, too, when you get turned away from auditions or don't get a single callback, when you feel ugly because of the humidity, when you eat too many slices of cheap pizza. It's harder when you don't have your number one fans around to cheer you on. I love it here and am still ridiculously and literally thrilled EVERYDAY to be here. I can't imagine being anywhere else, nor do I want to be. BUT I miss the people who know me like the back of their hands. I know that one day I will be able to say that about some people here, but right now, dagnabbit, I miss those special people.

Since I left my family and dear, dear friends in Utah, I have ached for them over the course of the past eight weeks. "Did I take them for granted? Do they know how much I care about them? Do they CARE how much I care about them? Did I TELL them?" I've asked myself those questions over and over. Regret can be a nasty little hussy.

But I haven't died. I'm across the country loving them more than I did when I was standing right next to them, if it were possible. Missing someone is a part of loving them. I am thankful for the phone chats, the FaceTime, the texts, the emails, the expressions of love through "You can do this, Angela!"/words of affirmation.

We all need words of affirmation, really. So here goes... (Is it so weird that I'm so nervous to do this?! That's how hard it is for me.)

To my darling friends and family: I wish you could be here. I miss you horribly. I wish I could laugh with you and hug you and spend real face time with you. Thanks for being who you are. Thanks for letting me vent and complain sometimes. Thanks for being stupid with me. Thanks for letting me cry sometimes about stupid things. Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off of you. Thanks for laughing at my jokes. Thanks for being so talkative and for letting me be talkative, too. Thanks for supporting me. Thanks for being nice. Thanks for being funny. You're talented. You're pretty. You're handsome. You're beautiful. You're wonderful. You're freakin' cool. You're fun. You dress nice. You drive well. You're a great cook. You're so creative and artistic and loving and hilarious and awesome and just everything a girl could ask for in friends and family.

(I'll let you guys decide which quality belongs to which people. Ha!)

I want to be better about this. I think, really, we would all walk a little taller and love each other a little deeper if we expressed it so freely.

I LOVE YOU. YOU ARE AWESOME.

I feel better already!

The One with the Little Voice.

In New York right now, it's not what you would call "audition season." In fact, it's quite the opposite; it's the slowest time of the year for auditions. I knew this was the case before I came out here and I figure these three or so months that I'm here before "audition season"(August/September/October) will give me the chance to ease my way in, auditioning here and there and letting myself get to know the city. Since most of my days here are fairly open for the time being, there's really no excuse for me not to keep up with my blog every couple of weeks or so. I do, after all, really enjoy writing and sharing my thoughts and adventures.

I've had several amazing and difficult discoveries since my last entry. The most thundering one being this: nothing about this place is easy. (Except finding and purchasing food... that's far TOO easy. It's everywhere.) It's not easy to get anywhere. It's not easy to audition. It's not easy to run errands. It's not easy to make time to visit a friend, even though you're completely surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people all the time. It's not easy to walk a block without wanting or needing to push someone out of your way. It's not easy to be in a hurry. It's not easy to get somewhere on time. It's not easy to keep your hair in the same state it was in when you left your house. It's not easy to sleep. It's not easy to cool off. It's not easy to afford it. It's just not easy. It's not only not easy, it's just plain hard.

When I became conscious of this fact, I had a moment. A moment of "Is this really where I want to be?" A moment of "Am I out of my mind?" A moment of "I want my mom."

By the time I get home at night, I am exhausted, even if I've only done two things all day long. When I wake up in the morning, I have to pry my eyes open and have a serious conversation with myself about whether sleeping an extra hour would be a good idea or not.

I was talking to a friend the other night and expressing this recent awakening. In that moment, I smiled to myself as a little voice in my head said, "True, but every single time you do succeed, it will be so much more rewarding."

I went to an audition yesterday fully prepared and was told after sitting there for four hours that the casting director had decided that he wasn't seeing non-Equity audigoogtions. I'd been told that this might happen, so I thought I had mentally prepared myself. But as I was walking back to the train with the same materials in my backpack that I'd had four hours earlier, I just got outright mad. The anger stirred in me for the half-hour, sweaty, humid, squished-in trip back to my apartment. I even let out a guttural, frustrated yell when I closed my bedroom door. I was hot. I'd put on a skirt and heels and stayed up extra-late the night before tweaking my audition cut and perfecting my résumé for nothing.

Then that little voice came to me again: "True, but every single time you do succeed, it will be so much more rewarding."

I pondered on that for a minute more. It's very common for us to look at the people succeeding as performers and say, "I want that. Why do they have it and I don't?" It's very easy to envy someone who is currently experiencing the triumphs and accomplishments we dream of. The truth is, they have it because they've likely gone through some (or all) of the same things. They went to their share of auditions where they weren't seen. They braved the streets on humid days. They stayed up late preparing auditions. They probably, perhaps angrily, slugged their way back to their homes and apartments with a heavy heart and felt the frustrations I felt. They took the odd jobs, the opportunities that maybe paid less than others. They said yes. They worked hard. They persisted and then one day, it paid off. They were rewarded for the hard work. That was a powerful thought. What's also powerful is knowing that people can succeed in different ways. There are so many different roads and so many different destinations.

No, nothing about this place is easy. There will be days when I want crawl into a hole and let myself be mad about it. There will be days when the difficulty seems normal. There will be days when I will relish in the difficulty. I chose this. I still choose this. I loved this. I still love this. I'm growing as a person. I am SO happy. And as long as I am happy, as long as I choose it and love it, as long as I'm progressing, I know I am in the perfectly right place.

I really, really love New York. How could I not?

The One from the City.

So, I thought about going on and on about why I haven't blogged for so long but realize that catching everyone up on the past five months could really take a long time, when what I really want to do is talk about the biggest event of all...

... as I type this from my apartment in New York City.

I have officially lived here for fifteen days. I'll be honest - it feels like longer because so much has happened in that short time. I have learned so much about myself, about my friends, about this city, and about what my future holds in those few days. You see, it's impossible to gradually learn the ins and outs of this place. You get thrown right in the second you arrive. It was overwhelming, and it still is.

I'll start from the beginning.

 

My flight left Dallas Love Field on Monday, June 3rd, at 6:30 AM. I changed planes at the Houston Hobby Airport and departed there at 8:30 AM to LaGuardia. I met a nice Columbian man on the plane who was flying to New York for business; he asked me what I was traveling for, and I told him. He smiled big and said in somewhat broken English, "You have that sparkle that makes me know it will happen to you." 

As we got closer to landing, my heart started pounding. As we went through the clouds and I could see the city, I felt myself getting emotional. I had this vast sense of accomplishment and pride sweep through me, that this plan that I'd had in motion for so long was finally coming to fruition: to move to New York City. The plane landed at 1:15 PM, and I hurried off. (I've never liked flying - motion sickness mixed with minor claustrophobia and anxiety doesn't often make for a very pleasant experience.) I promptly went to collect my bags and soon found that someone had mistakenly taken one of mine. I waited for them to return and then went on my way with two rolling suitcases, a backpack and a carry-on duffel bag in tow.

After dropping off my bags, I met up with my friend Dalton. We have been friends since we were 16 years old. I would say he's the friend I've kept around the longest, my oldest friend. He is a dear one, too, that I think will always have a special little place in my heart. He has helped me so much, in so many ways, and he continues to do so here in this big, big world called NYC. I met a few of his friends that night, let my phone die, and was out until well past bedtime. I had purchased my MetroCard earlier that day, and it was time to head back to the apartment. Dalton and his friends gave me very clear instructions on how to get back. But anyone who knows me at all knows I don't listen to directions well. It's almost automatic that I shut down when someone is giving them to me... even if it means my safety might be involved.

Needless to say, I got lost on the way back. I ended up in an area that I'm sure I couldn't find again if I tried. It was a frightening neighborhood, and it was late. The crazies were out. I hurriedly made my way up to two girls sitting on a stoop and asked them where the street was that I was looking for. They pointed me in the right direction and I practically jogged there, my feet achy from my boots and the day's activities. I couldn't call anyone for instructions or reassurance or company. I was a mess. When I crawled into bed, I laid there in silence and asked, "What am I doing here?"

I woke up late the next day and decided I would make my way to a place I was at least a little more familiar with than others - Times Square. It was a sight for sore eyes, really.

As I walked around the popular tourist spot, I became keenly aware of something quite potent: I over-romanticized New York City. When I visited as a tourist myself, I saw the pretty places - the expensive hotels, the tour bus, the taxis, the nice restaurants, the safer streets, the beautiful night lights on Times Square. Some of those things still fascinate me, but there is so much more to this place than those things. I've seen some ugly parts of NYC. It's dirty. It's gritty and scary and big and can swallow you up in one single gulp if you let it.

And yet, I don't want to leave.

Since that first full day here, I have had many adventures. I snagged a job selling merchandise at a few shows. Because of this job, I've been within inches of Andrew Rannells, Clive Davis, Bernadette Peters, Megan Hilty, Tina Fey, Lea Salonga, Marc Jacobs, Swoosie Kurtz, Elton John, Zachary Levi, Matthew Morrison, and Krysta Rodriguez. Because of this job, I've made some decent friends and some decent money that will help in this expensive city.

I've seen an off-Broadway show called Unbroken Circle. I've seen Once, Peter and the Starcatcher, Kinky Boots and Pippin, all on Broadway. (The latter of which is literally the best thing I've ever seen in my entire life... I'm not kidding. If you get to see ONE show in New York, choose Pippin. It will blow your mind.) 

I've had far too much 99-cent pizza. I've had gigantic cupcakes and tasty cookies and delicious paninis. I've walked probably 100 miles since I got here. I've done the lottery at Matilda and Wicked. I fully intend on returning to try again... you know, since I live here and all. I've lost five pounds. I've slept soundly, even with a rumbling train and late-nighters on the streets. The grittiness is still very alive, but I'm learning to deal with it. I've learned how to discretely, yet obviously, show that I'm carrying pepper spray on my keychain. I've learned to never take a cab. I've learned people on the street will always ask you for money. I've learned to take a backpack when I go grocery-shopping. I've learned how much I can fit into my backpack when I go grocery-shopping so that I can make the trek back to my apartment without my arms falling off. I've learned how to check for bed bugs. I'm learning MTA's system. I'm learning how to dress if I'm making a expedition to the other side of the city. (In other words, never wear heels if it means a long walk. Wear tennis shoes or rain boots and bring your heels with you in your purse/bag. In turn, no heels also means less cat calls in sketchy stations or streets.)

And as of yesterday, I've started to learn about auditions. 

I auditioned for the national touring company of Ghost at Ripley-Grier. I was there for eight hours. I went in at 8:00 AM and finally auditioned at 4:00 PM. I didn't get a callback, and that's okay. Because I'm learning that that's also how things work around here for most people. I learned yesterday that while my music library is extremely extensive, my audition cuts are not. I need to focus on putting together more 16- and 32-bar cuts that will blow people's minds when I use them.

I'm learning where to look for auditions. I'm learning how to act at them. I'm learning how to not act at them. I'm learning they are time-consuming and hard work. I'm learning that if I ever tell anyone that I'm a performer and they belittle the work by saying with a patronizing smile, "Well, that's fun," I'll likely punch them in the face and/or invite them along to an audition. I'm learning that warm-up locations are hard to find. (Tip: when a train comes by or an announcement comes over the speaker in the station on the way to your audition, use those mere seconds to do a loud warm-up. I'm not kidding; I found ten opportunities yesterday to make this happen, and I took each one.)

I'm learning that the love that I have for my friends and family grow as I move farther away from them. I'm learning that to miss them is very, very real and a very tangible feeling.

Right now, I'm learning. That's the biggest thing about being here at this moment, I think, if you weren't able to catch that. I am soaking up one of the greatest cities in the world and loving it at times, hating it at others, but never wanting to leave all in the same minute.

I am a passionate young lady in a passionate city. I don't know if I will ever get used to the hustle and bustle, but I know that I could grow to love it and call it my own.

I am proud that I am here. I am proud that I am learning. And I am proud of absolutely wherever this crazy road leads.

The One with 7, 8, 9, and 10.

Hi. My name's Angela, and I'm a slacker.

Okay, not really. I just have neglected this little treasure for far too long. I started my "Tributes to Thanksgiving" in November, let things get a little more hectic than normal and let the last two months slip away from me in the blogging department.

Since I am a lady of my word, I fully intend on catching up on my Tributes, even if it's little by little... but life has a way of being hectic, so I may not ever get around to it. That doesn't mean I'm not grateful, of course.

I have the day off and the road conditions prohibited me from following through with any plans and have forced me to put on pajamas, remove any make-up, and throw my hair into a ponytail. So, instead of braving those white roads, I am going to relish in the things I am thankful for (which I should be doing everyday).

I'll continue where I left off: number seven.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #7: "Some people want it to happen, some wish it would happen, others make it happen." - Michael Jordan

A few years ago, I was having a conversation with my little sister. She said something that has long since stuck with me. She said, "Angie, you've known what you've wanted to do your whole life. I wish I had that." It struck several chords in me: one, a bit of sadness for my sister, wishing that I could just help her find her niche and two, she's right.

I have never, in all my years, wondered what I was going to do with my future. I have known from a very young age and I haven't changed my mind, my passion, my direction since then. I feel very fortunate to have that.

So what exactly am I thankful for? A drive. A passionate, sentimental, powerful, sometimes frustrating and scary ambition.

Which leads me to my next Tribute...

Tribute to Thanksgiving #8: "Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake." - Henry David Thoreau

I'm packing everything up, driving to Texas mid-May, and leaving my car there with my family. I'll spend several days with them and then proceed to pack up approximately four suitcases.

I fly out of Dallas on June 3, 2013 at 6:30 AM. I arrive in New York's LaGuardia Airport at 1:10 PM.

Baby steps. Big, huge, terrifying baby steps.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #9: "A baby is born with a need to be loved - and never outgrows it." - Frank A Clark

When I went home for Christmas, I knew I would be unproductive in the sense that all I would want to do is snuggle little Evie all the time. And that was fine by me. It's amazing how therapeutic being around a child can be. The way a child holds onto you, looks at you, loves you, falls asleep in your arms - it is honestly one of the most incredible feelings in the world. I found that being around that tiny little bundle was lightening my load, making me forget any troubles, and downright fun. I am obsessed with her.

Is it overkill if I express, yet again, my crazy love for my sweet little niece?

With a face this cute, who can help it?

Tribute to Thanksgiving #10: "I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future." - Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol

I have always loved Christmas. It is a time spent with family. It is a time of warmth and joy and charity. It is a time of music and food and gifts, of shopping, of catching up on sleep, of movies, and on and on.

What makes a time like that even more special is being submersed in a performance that shares with its audiences the meaning of Christmas. For the past two years, I have been honored to be a part of A Christmas Carol at the Hale Centre Theatre. Last year's performance was wonderful and special, but this year's was especially touching for many, many reasons. Some unexpected situations occurred during rehearsals that solidified a bond between many members of the cast and production staff. It felt like an honest, new, fresh show. It felt so very, very special and just... important. 

I have never felt Christmas as deeply as I did in 2012, all thanks to A Christmas Carol and the precious people involved.