Totally Worth It
Relationships are way harder than they tell you. See, I’m a mess these days. Now, I like to think I’m a charming mess, but the truth is that for the moment, I’m just a mess. The job hunt is still ongoing and while I sometimes feel very optimistic, at times it’s easy to dip into a little gloom. When that happens, it’s not pretty.
As a result, when things are going well I tend to cling to them with white-knuckled enthusiasm. I’m sure you’ve all heard that “if you love something let it go”? I’m more of the “if you love something, grab hold of it and squeeze the life out of it so that it doesn’t have the energy to go anywhere.” Healthy, no? No.
Poor Irving. He’s being held a little tightly right now. As a soothing, calming presence in my life, I’ve been admittedly putting some pressure on him. He says he’s fine, but I have my suspicions that I’m just moments from driving him crazy. These suspicions, incidentally, are strictly the result of my own twisted brain. See, I am petrified that he’s going to break up with me when he realizes how insane I am. Well done me.
I mean, I’m currently in two shows for the Gay and Lesbian Theater Festival. I’ve been bitching and moaning about them for months now. “Oh, I’m so stressed.” “Oh, I just don’t know if I can do it.” “Oh, what if it’s terrible?” Meanwhile, I’ve made it abundantly clear how much I really need him to come to my opening night. Of a festival I’ve been whining about. That makes sense how? (The kicker? He’s promised to attend not one, but both opening nights. He’s a brave guy.)
And this is a rough time for both of us right now. Given that this blog is about thoughts of my own and not his own, I’ll stick to my end of things. Suffice it to say that we’re both super stressed. I feel like I haven’t been the most supportive girlfriend lately. I’ve been too busy trying to stem the flow of cursing and weeping that overtakes me from time to time. Well, that and trying to fill the world with baked goods. Between those two things, I’ve been a little preoccupied.
He’s been really great at talking me down from my ledges when I’m freaking out. Unfortunately, because I’m so insecure right now (as I am before every show I ever do), I need a lot of talking down. I think of myself as a low maintenance gal, but come play time I’m giving Sally a run for her money. (The girls got that line; the guys didn’t.) That means that little things are getting to me. And because I’ve never had a boyfriend survive a bout of theater crazy, I’m just waiting for him to freak out and decide he’ll just come back when I’m normal again.
The plays are stressful and I hate that I’m not myself. I’m frustrated because he’s been great and I’ve been crazy. I also hate that I can’t tell if I’m reacting the way I am because I’m so high strung or if I have a real reason to be upset. Relationships and plays are a lot of work.
In both of them, you audition. You prep. You are nervous and you pace back and forth, wondering if the part is really right for you or not. If you get a callback, you’re excited. You want to know more about the project. You want to know about the vision. You want to know if you fit. And while you keep telling yourself that there’s always another show or another guy, you know you want to be part of this.
So all goes well and you join the cast or you become half of a couple. Then you work at it. Rehearsals until all hours of the night and day. You use your free time. If you don’t have free time, you invent some. You might get frustrated and wonder why you signed on for it. You might question your ability to handle it well. You might worry that another person would be better suited to this role or maybe you asked for too big a part.
There are always times when I do shows that I’m convinced the director is going to drop me. The first show I ever did out of college was a wonderful experience. Two nights before we opened, I missed a cue on stage. Everyone told me it was no big deal. Everything would be fine. That night I sat in my locked car at midnight on a street corner beneath a street light and cried my eyes out. I banged on the steering wheel. I screamed into my coat. I wept until I gave myself hiccups.
I just knew that despite all my best efforts and all the work I’d put in and all the heart and soul I’d given, that my director finally saw me for what I was: a phony. Someone who thought she was ready for a real show but then couldn’t take it. I don’t know when I finally believed her when she said I was a good performer, but at some point on opening night, I knew I was in love. The experience of being on stage was electric. I stopped worrying about getting everything perfect. I quit freaking out about each tiny gesture and just let myself relax. I had a wonderful time and I knew that it was something I’d want to do for as long as people would have me. The strain went away and it was all worth it.
I think I feel like I did that night. I’ve dropped my cues. I’m so damn needy that I’m not giving back. As such, even when I have a reason to be upset, I feel bad about it because how much more can he give before he gets too tired of it? I need to remember to breathe and focus on how much I love the feeling of being here.
No matter what impression this ramble may have given, allow me to be very clear. I love him. Very much. I am happy with him. He makes me calm and peaceful and centered. I have become that obnoxious woman who talks about her relationship all the time because I’m so damn happy that I want to tell everyone about it. I’m just also insecure.
The good news is, I think the first wave of theater panic is passing. (I say first wave because after this weekend’s show, I have another one next week.) And I hope my stupid relationship panics will continue to pass by quickly. To be fair, I haven’t had too many lately. I feel pretty safe most of the time. It’s just when that door to the madness opens, there’s no telling what might slip through.
I think the thing for me to remember is that once the panic subsides, I love being on stage. I audition for everything I can. I cross my fingers, I say little prayers, I just count the minutes until my next show. I forget about all the strain and the stress once I’m on stage. Even in the shows I’ve done that were awful (and yeah, I’ve had my fair share of those), I was proud of the fact that I got through them. The crazy stops and the fun starts again.
Pardon me clinging to my metaphor here (we all know I do love a good extended metaphor), but I think I’ll be ok. My panic will pass. The lights will come up and I’ll be anxious to take on my next challenge. (Which, in this metaphorical context, is a step forward in the relationship; it’s not a new one. So there’s a hole in the metaphor. Sue me.)
I guess if it’s the right show and the right guy, the panic is worth it. And the fact is, while I’m still not 100% sold on the show, I’m pretty sure about the guy.
um, friend – he’s already seen your crazy and hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s cool.
January 13th, 2010 at 4:22 pmBut as you know, it’s coming out in full force this week. Still, it’s proving to be a better day today. I’m feeling more centered. I have cookies in the kitchen. I feel pretty good about my lines. And we’re even going to squeeze in a dinner before rehearsal. All things considered, the crazy is now at bay.
January 13th, 2010 at 5:02 pmYou should really listen to that Idina Menzel song you put on my CD. You know…”My Own Worst Enemy.” It helps.
January 16th, 2010 at 7:04 am