Tuesday, May 29, 2012


I'm so tired. I'm capable of anything.

I still love you. I never want to see you again.

I'm rusty. I'm talented.

I can't stop thinking. My brain is a blank.

I'm still so young. Life is going too fast.

My career has barely started. I've done so many great projects already, and tackled some awesome roles. 

I'm an idiot for not knowing that film lingo. One should always be learning - humility comes before honor. 

There isn't enough time for me to prepare. I am capable of bringing my training, presence, joy, and personality to anything if I concentrate and breathe.

I'm doing it already. Where I want my path to go seems so far away.

I want to hide. I want to perform. 

I'm lonely and alone. "I am human, and therefore nothing human is foreign to me." Art unites me to the world.

My feelings sometimes have episodes of schizofrenia; they and their opposites race around my solar-plexis simultaneously, not mutually exclusive, all true, all clamoring and jabbering and dressed up like triplets at their quinceaƱera. I'm a little bit country AND a little bit rock and roll. I'm one of those egotistical cocky actors AND one of those needy insecure actors. How can one individual person contain such a galaxy of burning, glaring, overlapping noise - and the white noise machine to cancel it all out? How can I possibly make sense of my impulses onstage when offstage my wires are all crossed? (And there's no cool 1940s Rosie the Riveter kind of chick as operating the board, patiently answering and transferring calls). And, not to panic, but how can I stay in the game for another 10 years if after 2 my emotions are already going cray-cray?

I'm not necessarily advocating the Pollyanna anecdote for all dark, overwhelmed, or low-energy feelings - and many of my fellow artists know that when your natural voice needs to be freed and it ain't happy, you just have to let it growl.

Clicking my heels has never brought me magically home, so what I'm attempting to practice lately as an actress and as a human is thankfulness. If a song comes on when I'm in the shower than reminds me of a sad memory, instead of bemoaning the fact that I still have feelings stirred I try to say, "Thank you. Thank you that my heart has that in it." If I see something weird happen on the subway platform I say, "Thank you, universe, for entertaining and surprising me constantly." If my feelings get all twisty and emo on me, I say, "Well thanks for your opinions, guys. Just know I'm not letting any of you be in charge right now." If I run around like a crazy person all day in 90 degree heat with no time to eat meals or finish an audition tape, I say, "...." Well. I'm trying to think of something to be thankful for about that one.

I have lots of feelings. And no feelings. And both are true, and both are ok. What I'm realizing about my acting career is that my feelings are riding the roller coaster curves too, and that the best thing I can do for myself at any given time is to not judge my own feelings. They're there, like my body or the floor or outer space. Judging might be fun for me as a hobby once in a while, but it won't effect any change over whatever I'm judging. I can say, "Sun, you are too hot." But it doesn't stop being hot. I'm not going to judge my feelings anymore. Rather, I strive to notice them, mark them, experience them, and then - dammit - use them in my acting.