The One About Proving Myself.

Two posts ago, I had expressed my state of unhappiness. I had expressed, in so many words, that I was chin-deep in depression and that I was trying to dig my way out of it by choosing different paths than the ones I had been walking, and sometimes sprinting, previously. I've been working on it. Quite actively. It hasn't all been pretty and graceful, but pretty and graceful has never been the Angela Jeffries way. It's in my nature to stumble around quite a bit before I get my footing.

The past two months since that post have been full of recovery, of discovery, of rediscovery.

Life has blessed me with some truly inspiring people. I don't always acknowledge their presence, but they are always there.

Whether it's the friend who only takes pictures of nature to post on Instagram. The friend whose daughter's tragic death has sparked a flame in her to build others through her and their own grief and has helped so many other people to cope. The friends whose sweet family is such a beacon of hope that you just wish you could be a fly on the wall to soak up the love you can only imagine is there. The friend whose love for her two adopted sons melts you with every photo she posts or comment she makes. The friend who knows the exact words to say and when to say them, even from oceans away. The friend who finds the time, energy, and effort to post in his blog everyday about something around him that he's inspired by. The friend who goes out of his way to tell me how much my blog means to him. The friend who sent me a simple, yet sweet, gift in the mail just because he thought of me when he saw it. The friend who is making goals with me. The friend who can give the greatest advice and make me double over with laughter all in the same minute.

Inspirations, big and small, from the most precious people in my precious little life.

I've been sitting on a certain subject for a blog post for some time but am just getting around to putting the jumble of thoughts into so many words for cyberspace. When I sat down at the computer today, I wasn't sure where to start, so I decided to catch up on the latest from the blogs I was following. Today, I was inspired by one in particular. I've always loved reading Emily's posts, but this one struck so many chords with me for some reason. I suppose it goes hand-in-hand with where my mind has been for the past little while and even opened my eyes to some broader outlooks on the matter.

Guilt is an issue for me. It's not a difficult task for anyone to make me feel guilty (though, as Mom says, no one can make you feel any way without your consent). Sad as this is, it often propels me to do something, perhaps because I already feel guilty or for fear that I might if I don't do it. Pathetic, huh? I even blame myself frequently and let myself get so down from the guilt of the blame that it's quite a chore to build myself back up.

Who knows where it started? I grew up in a home where I was very loved (maybe a bit picked on by my siblings, but who wasn't?). I learned how to work hard. I learned how to be on time and how to be frugal. I learned how to be creative and make art. I learned how to be relatively independent. I learned how to be kind and sensitive. Grade school is a bit of a blur for me, so it very well could've come from there. Truthfully, though, it's been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember.

Recently, however, since I've started to really hone in on what's happening in my life, I've figured out that the guilt thing is coming from something else entirely, something bigger: proof. Doesn't make much sense, does it? I'll try to explain a little better.

Here's the sad, awful truth. More than the guilt, the one thing that drives me isn't my ambition; it isn't my love for humankind, it isn't my sensitive nature or tender heart, it isn't a positive outlook on things around me.

Nope.

It's trying to prove myself to other people.

My entire life, I have wanted everyone that I come in contact with to think that I am awesome, so I try to do whatever it takes to try to make them think that. I want people to look up to me and admire me. I want people to understand why I get the things that I get, why I'm given the opportunities I'm given. I want people to want to be just like me. I want people to love me. I want everyone to love me. I want people to want to look like me, act like me. I want to be validated. I want people to always want to be around me. I want approval. I want people to approve of me. I want everyone to approve of me. So I tweak myself here and press myself there in order to be that for them.

I suppose part of that comes from the profession I've chosen. I find a show I'm interested in, learn the material, and then walk into a room where I proceed to try to prove to the people in the room that I'm the right fit.

I had an audition back in August with a national touring company. I went in, sang a song I felt good about and was asked to sing something else. After I finished the second song, the director asked me who I saw myself as in the show. I answered him. He said, "Prove it to me tomorrow." A callback! Success! I went home, worked very hard on the material and came back to try to prove it. But... I still wasn't doing something right. "No, no, you're not quite there yet. We'll try again tomorrow." They offered some suggestions, and I went home and got to work. I dyed my hair. I watched makeup tutorials. I wore a super short dress and high heels. I was willing to do whatever it took to prove that I was right. And still, it wasn't working for the director. Several callbacks later, after I ended up literally on my hands and knees cleaning trash off the floor while I sang a song and did a scene, I thought to myself, "What am I doing?!" Eventually, I received an email from the casting director informing me that the show had been cast. She kindly - truly kindly - told me that I just didn't "have that thing" that they were looking for. 

When I look back at that, I think of the earliest interaction. "Who do you see yourself as?" I gave him the answer I thought was right for me, but he didn't see that. His vision of the character was completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to his vision rather than mine.

(Let's think about this in real life while we're at it: so-and-so's vision of who I am is completely different from what I had pictured, so I attempted to conform to so-and-so's vision rather than mine.)

True, part of the profession is putting yourself out there for them to nitpick on. Absolutely. But let's stop and think for a minute: if what you have to offer is what you have to offer, then what else do you have to offer? And what you have to offer is more than enough. True, you can show them more of what you have to offer, but altering yourself to prove yourself worthy of the role or show? That doesn't seem right. Or authentic. Or anything that I signed up for. One of the many wonderful things about theatre is its rawness. Yes, you're playing a character. Yes, you're playing someone you aren't. But if it doesn't come from a place of authenticity, who cares? Perhaps that's why I find it so important as an actress to pinpoint at least one thing I can relate to in the character I'm playing. I want it to be real... even when I'm playing a turtle or a mole. 

More than proving myself in my profession, I've found that it rules my personal walk of life. I have tried for a very long time to prove that I am good enough for someone to want to be with me. I have tried numerous times to prove that I am a good friend - the best friend - to so many people. I have tried to prove that I am the most attentive listener. I have tried to prove that I am the funniest. I have tried to prove that I am the quirkiest. And in all of these things and so much more, I have gone out of my way to show it, to prove it.

And when I can't prove it, I'm not enough. I am constantly trying to prove to other people why I'm good enough, pretty enough, loving enough, nurturing enough, kind enough, right enough, strong enough, smart enough, caring enough, perfect enough, thin enough, gentle enough, nice enough, rich enough, funny enough, and on and on and on and on and on.

And really, what it comes down to is that I lose myself - who I really am - in all of that. I lose myself in trying to be someone else for someone else. It's taken over who I am for a long time. And I'm done. I'm done trying to be someone I'm not for other people.

Because you see, who I really am isn't so bad at all. In fact, who I am is awesome. Yeah, I'm awesome.

I am 27 years old, Texas born and raised, with an accent that only comes out around Mom. I stole a Beauty and the Beast band-aid from Walmart when I was 6 years old and thought I was going to go to jail because of it. I wore my dad's safety glasses to school one day in first grade for attention. I became engrossed with Titanic when the movie came out, and it's still in my top five. I graduated 34th in my class, just one person short of the top 10%. I cry a lot, but not as much as I used to. I thought I was going to get married when I was 19 years old and could have. I wear my heart on my sleeve; it's not hard to figure out how I'm feeling about something. I say "I love you" a lot, and I mean it every time, from the very bottom of my heart; that doesn't make it mean any less. I love my eyes. I hate my nose. I love my teeth and my hair. I love my lips. I hate my eyebrows. I love my body. I love that, more often than not, I control how my body feels based on how I treat it. I spend far too much time on my phone; I'm trying to be better about that. I love foreign films and animated movies, but I hate anime. I abhor abbreviations. I love being barefoot. My favorite song when I was little was "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus," and the song still makes me teary anytime I hear it. I know almost nothing about history and science. I know a lot about grammar and math. I want to write a book one day. I love to wear pajamas almost always, but the girly-girl inside of me loves to put on a cute dress and shoes, curl my hair, and put on lots of makeup. I love babies and dogs. I love food... a lot. I make really great desserts (but sometimes they're disastrous). I know how to throw a really good party and how to be an excellent host. Sometimes I judge people too harshly. Sometimes I don't give people the benefit of the doubt that they deserve. Sometimes I think irrationally. Sometimes I let my heart rule my logic. I'm stubborn. If I say I'm going to do something, I will do it. I over-romanticize things. I over-think things.

While I do believe that life is about becoming a better person, I also believe that it's about being a better you, not a better someone else that so-and-so will approve of. I'm happy with the person I am and the person that I'm becoming. I have nothing to hide. I have nothing to prove to anyone. I choose to make the good things that I do be extensions of who I really am. I don't want to lose who I am in order to please someone else because I  want to love who I really am, and I know a lot of people who love who I really am, too. I'm not going to beg people to love me. The people worth impressing are the people I don't have to impress. I want to get all the crap out of the way and just give of myself, without seeking approval. (How many ways can I say that?)

So this is it. I'm going to use my energy I would've used trying to please people and gain their approval on becoming a better version of myself instead. I have a feeling that everyone will just approve of that person anyway. But this time, I will, too.

The One About Past, Present, Future.

In the comfort of the Jeffries home in good ol' Texas, I'm formulating a mental table of what's ahead. It's been 2 1/2 weeks since I left New York. I'm 1 1/2 weeks away from boarding the plane to Los Angeles where I'll be rehearsing for 6 1/2 weeks. I'm just 8 weeks away from stepping foot on Canadian soil in order to embark on the 1st cruise with Holland America's Oosterdam. Then I will be on the seas for 35 weeks, performing on 1-, 7-, 10-, 11-, 12-, 13-, 14-, 20-, 24-, 25-, 28-, 38-, and 39-day cruises to Alaska, Hawaii, Australia, Fiji, New Zealand, and many other islands in the South Pacific that I haven't learned how to pronounce just yet.

My last few weeks in the city were blissfully bittersweet... full of surprises and realizations, hardships and frustrations, excitement, tears, gifts, blessings and appointments, laughter, food, and lots and lots of heartfelt chats. As I left my apartment at 4:15 AM on February 19th (as the cab driver aggressively made his way to the airport - yes, it's a very realistic and honest stereotype they bestow on themselves), I pat myself on the back: one reason being that I had successfully packed up all of my belongings and fit them in the original four suitcases I had arrived with in June, another reason being that I had woken up in time to shower and look presentable (not counting the ever-present bags under my eyes, of course) after only sleeping two hours the night before, and the final (and most important) reason I pat myself on the back was because I had been a resident of New York City for eight and a half months.

While I sat in Terminal B at LaGuardia waiting to board Flight 2242 to Salt Lake City, I wrote a love letter to the place I had called home for the last while. 

It read:

My dearest New York,

Early this morning I am leaving you until January of 2015. It's been a very committed eight and a half month relationship we've forged, you and I. You've been there with me when I got my heart broken twice; you were there when I was sick; you've watched me audition for umpteen shows/theatre companies; you saw me perform in numerous bars and cabarets; you've seen me almost book something I wanted desperately; you've seen me book something I needed more; you've made me completely broke; you've made me rich with knowledge; you've introduced me to some lifelong friends; you've made me sweat and freeze; you've made me cry and laugh and scream and fight and giggle and gasp; you let me make children laugh; you've taught me so much; you've shown me what it's really like to be alone; you've uncovered my insecurities and flaws, and in return, you've allowed me to find amazing strengths in myself that I didn't know existed; you've taught me I'm smart and I'm strong; you've given me a new perspective on life in general; you've taught me I know a lot about my career path choice but also that I have so much to learn and so far to go. The "business" can chew you up and spit you back out, and I suppose you could, too, but you haven't, and I'm grateful for that. You've seen me at my highest highs and my lowest lows; I have hated you and loved you in the same minute. It hasn't been easy. In fact, my time with you has been the hardest time of my life. BUT it's also been the most rewarding, learning, special time. As I explore other parts of the world over the next while, I know I will think of you everyday. I will miss you fiercely. I will dream about you, just as I did before I moved onto your grounds (only this time, a little more realistically and a little less romanticized). Even though you haven't made life easy, I am outrageously grateful to you for our time together. You are a beautiful, wonderful, awfully imperfect perfect place for me. I love you, New York. I can't wait to come back to you soon.

Yours always,

Angela

Let me rephrase an earlier statement: I pat myself on the back because I had been a resident of New York City for eight and a half months and am so excited to return when my contract with Holland America is finished. I LOVE NY.

Before I came to visit my family in Texas, I took a pit-stop in Salt Lake City to visit my friends and see them in Les Mis at the Hale. The show was really beautiful. I was deeply moved by the performances and ridiculously proud of/blown away by my talented friends.

Before the curtain rose on the first performance I saw, I was walking from the restroom to my seat, and a very clear thought crossed my mind as I looked around at the lobby and hallways: that chapter of my life was closed and over, and it was very unlikely that I would ever perform there again. It was a very tangible thought, like I could reach out and touch it. It was a strange thing to be so conscious that the place I had known so well just months before was no longer my "home" and that the stage I had memorized, laughed and cried on wasn't "mine" anymore. It surprised me more than anything to recognize that reality. I certainly didn't expect that to happen. I actually expected to ache to be in the show. I expected to hurt that I wasn't backstage in the hubbub and excitement. I expected to never want to leave. But that wasn't the case. I thought of a quote I'd heard in a talk:

I had let go of what was. That was a very defining moment for me and, perhaps, contributed somewhat to the fact that I was a blubbering baby the entire time I was in Utah and especially while I was in that building. It was such a bittersweet feeling! I am so fortunate to have worked and played there. I learned so much in my three and a half years and seven shows there. I love so many people I met there and truly cherish the relationships, lessons, and experiences that beautiful facility offered me. It was a huge part of my life, my "home" and "family" for a long time. I felt very loved and taken care of always. It was always about so much more than one more role on my resume, and I loved that. I wouldn't trade my time there for anything.

Interestingly enough, that moment of realization reared its head many, many times during the rest of my time in Utah with other situations. And truthfully, I didn't know how to handle it. I spent so much wonderful time with so many of my wonderful friends. It hit me over and over, with each of them, that life has gone on without me. Distance had done its duty and damage and made things different with almost every single one of my best friends. I felt like I was grasping to understand and fit into conversations about the latest happenings. I was constantly surprised with new news that I otherwise would've known had I still lived there. I felt like I didn't have much to contribute to group conversations; that never happened before. It just isn't my world anymore. It hurt. I'm not going to lie and say it didn't. It was confusing. It was frustrating. I was mad and sad. In many ways, although I had hoped it wouldn't, I knew it would happen. They were still the same amazing, fun, expressive people I've known for years. They weren't different, and I wasn't different: we were. That's a hard, jagged, mean ol' pill to swallow.

At some point, however, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself in those regards and let be what will be. I had to let go of what was. The fact of the matter is that I would still lie down and die for all of them. Some of the friendships may, in fact, disappear, and that won't be easy - or maybe it will. But as for the majority... we all change and are trying our best to find our place in this world; we move away from each other and don't know every detail. It's not always convenient to reach out, no, but when the tears fall or when we could leap with delight and excitement, I know where those people are and they know where I am. These friendships are important to me, and it's important to me to show that, no matter the distance.

The One with A LOT.

They say honesty is the best policy. As a girl who wears her heart on her sleeve, I quite agree with that statement. I hope that I portray that in my day-to-day life, and I hope to portray that in all of my posts here. That being said, the following is a lot - a lot of stuff about me. My hope is that it doesn't appear too self-absorbed. Putting everything to words and writing helps me sort my thoughts and holds me accountable, too.

The past month and a half since I last blogged has been eventful to say the least. I celebrated my 27th birthday, which made me feel like an old cat. I always love looking back at the past year and noting all I've done. I think it's safe to say that Year 26 was the most eventful of them all, and I'm sure I feel that way because of the big move. That being said, I'm beginning to grasp a better understanding of aging in this industry. Thankfully, it's not as brutal as the ballet industry, but the older I get, the more I feel like I'm running out of time. I want to have a decent amount of experience under my belt so that people will take me seriously as I age. It's not that the business doesn't let "old people" be a part of it; it's just always better to start younger, so I feel like an old fart at 27. I didn't really feel that way until I got out here, honestly, because I didn't realize how important it was. No one ever really talked about it before.

Aside from the birthday and feeling old, I went to a few auditions since the beginning of December, one of which was for the Northeast Children's Theatre Company's production of A Year With Frog and Toad. I was cast as one of the five cast members and have been in rehearsals for the past two weeks. I'm playing a bird, turtle, mole, frog, squirrel, and slug. The production performs four shows at the Fairfield Theatre in Fairfield, Connecticut, and then tours to elementary schools in the area. It has been an absolute joy working on this show. I don't think I've ever clicked so quickly with a cast, and I'm certainly being stretched creatively in a way I didn't think I really would be. The music is some of the hardest part-singing I've ever done. It's very high-energy. I literally have nothing like this role on my resume, and I'm very excited to add it. Plus, it's brought back that blissful feeling of rehearsing and looking forward to performing in a show again. There's something magical, too, about booking a job out here. Was it that glamorous job I imagined my first show in New York would be? No, but I am pleasantly surprised and ridiculously thankful for the opportunity. I love how much I've learned and grown from it already.

I performed at a few bars in there somewhere and found myself humbled by one in particular. I'm a very "yes" kind of girl; I'm not really above anything, but from that experience I learned to do my research and learn more about the job before I just say "yes." Fortunately, my friends who attended are the nicest and didn't judge me because of the quality of the event.

I went home for eleven days and spent six of those in a lake house in The Middle of Nowhere, Louisiana. It was perfect. I got to see my entire immediate family - brother and sister-in-law, mom, dad, sister, niece, and the best dog (of course she is part of the family). 

We played games, watched movies galore, ate far too much good food and had far too much good conversation. Most of those eleven days were also spent in pajamas, which makes a vacation a vacation, in my personal opinion.

I returned to the city to celebrate New Year's Eve in Times Square. I didn't make it in, so I came home to eat pizza and drink milkshakes while watching Forrest Gump with my wonderful roommate.

Just a few days later, I was officially offered and accepted a contract with Holland America as the female lead singer, or F1, on the Oosterdam. Rehearsals begin March 26th in Los Angeles, and the first cruise sails on May 11th. The first four months are spent in Alaska and the second four months are spent cruising Australia, New Zealand, and the South Pacific. Somewhere in those eight months, we'll also be hitting Hawaii and Fiji. I return to land on January 16, 2015.

Now that you are up-to-date on recent events...

I share that quote above for a number of reasons: one, to give me the courage to do what it says; two, for dramatic effect (of course); and three, to help you understand perhaps what's ahead in this post... basically if dramatic (and a bit of religious and personal) honesty freaks you out, stop here.

Phew. Now that you've been warned... here we go...

I have felt very, very dark in the past couple of months. Without formal diagnosis, but also without a doubt, I have been in a very deep, dark (and seemingly pathetic, I'm sure) depression. Everyday has been such a struggle. On January 2nd, I finally hit a wall of the deepest sadness I think I have ever felt in my entire life. Life felt like a mess and felt all sorts of out of control; I felt alone and abandoned. I sat in my room and let myself lose it for a while. I don't say prayers nearly as much as I probably should, but I prayed harder than ever before while I sat there and cried. I was angry and mad and confused and worried and sick and tired and hurt and just all of it. I didn't know what else to do. I want to be happy. I was begging for happy, searching for it, and I couldn't find it anywhere. So I prayed and cried, cried and prayed, until I couldn't think of anything else to say. It didn't happen right in the moment I ended the prayer, but answers to that prayer started rearing themselves all around me, little by little, coupled with the work I know I have to do to become healthier emotionally and even physically.

Yesterday, I had a thought while I was talking with a friend on the street: I have been fixated on what I have left behind and have been grappling and trying to hold onto relationships that are, undoubtedly, falling away from me because of the distance between us. I have been spending so much time trying to keep them as they were when I left them physically that I don't let myself get to know and love people here. I have been living in New York without living in New York. And I can only reach out so far before I tire of it and hurt, too. Distance does change friendships, and it has immensely. I have stubbornly clawed and scraped and pleaded to hold onto them and keep them exactly the same, but the fact of the matter is, they're changing. This does not mean I am giving less to or ending any one friendship; it just means accepting them for what they are turning into and letting them nestle into the beautiful friendship they can still be in the distance.

After all of that me talk, I am trying to learn how to be less self-absorbed and be a bit more of a grown-up. They say that charity and kindness toward others can also push us to become happier people. If we help in making someone else happy, we can also be happy. I know so many people who need a helping hand or a listening ear, and I don't offer that to them enough. I am so sorry for that and want to change that genuinely.

I have a little more time left in the city before I leave for the cruise rehearsals, a lot of which will be spent travelling and doing A Year With Frog and Toad. I will be returning to the city after my contract, but my hope is that over the next little while before I leave, I can open my eyes to my surroundings and my friends here and re-fall in love with this place I have been in love with for all my life. I also am going to try to live here today and to grow stronger and healthier and make my way back to the happy person I know I can be.