That Time Of Year

As summer winds down or any season really, I tend to take inventory of the preceding few months and where I stand, how I feel, what I've gained, what I've lost. My therapist tells me that when I compare myself to others, I am setting myself up for failure. But if I don't look around and assess the accomplishments of my peers, how am I supposed to know if I'm on track? Also, if I don't look around and assess the accomplishments of my peers and then work myself up into an hysterical fit of bitterness and inadequacy, WHAT ELSE CAN I BLOG ABOUT!?

Nothing. See? I need to keep doing this. For you, for my fans.

My career path is not a linear path. SURPRISE! Who knew!? There is no "If you get your MBA, THEN you will have a great job with lots of money and hopefully a 401K!" Granted, okay, some people go to college for graduate degrees and whatnot and still find themselves out of work like me but this is my blog and that means NO ONE HAS IT AS BAD AS I DO RIGHT NOW.

With an acting career, there isn't a specific formula for success though I REALLY REALLY WANT ONE! Stupid people book work. Talent-less people book work. I do not book work! Can't someone just give me a concrete way to get a job? I like concrete. I like stable. Look up "Type A" in the dictionary and BAM there's my picture.

But no. There isn't one foolproof road to success though I've taken copious notes on little things to help me along. Here's a list I made today while watching Oprah and eating a hot dog:

THINGS TO DO IN ORDER TO BE A SUCCESSFUL ACTOR:

1. Go on auditions. (Very helpful.)
2. Stop sucking at EVERY SINGLE AUDITION YOU GO ON. Seriously? Stop.
3. This hot dog is fantastic!

So there you go. Go to an audition and do not suck and perhaps, you might find success. Right now? I cannot find any. All I found today was the most insane pilates class I've ever taken, taught by a woman named Greta on the Upper West Side who worked my core and outer thighs like never before. After a 55 minute class, I'm pretty sure I lost two inches off my hips which, come on, is impressive!

Having downtime is a dangerous thing for me. (Read: Today!!! Pilates! Oprah! Hot dogs!) Maybe one of the reasons I like a structured schedule with lots of activities is because I like to feel productive, I like to feel needed and I also will be too busy to listen to the voices in my head. Why, just last night, as I was putting the twins to bed, I started to think that I better find a backup plan, that I better go back to grad school, that anyone who ever told me I was talented probably lied and I better hurry up and do SOMETHING with my life, ANYTHING because if not, there it is, the famous picture, me! In a house! With many cats! Though at this point, I probably won't be able to afford a house, just a one bedroom apartment in East New York. SAY IT AIN'T SO!

So I'm going to try this new thing that we talked a lot about in philosophy last year. I'm going to try being MINDFUL and PRESENT and stop PROJECTING so far into a future I cannot see. For all y'all know, I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. Seriously. At least that's linear. IF I keep crossing the street slowly without looking at the Walk/Don't Walk sign, there is a HIGH CHANCE that a bus is going to hit me. Good to know.

Sometimes it's hard to be alone in a very large city. Months can go by without someone touching me. And I don't mean in a motherly way. And I don't mean in a dirty way. And I certainly don't mean in a motherly dirty way. I mean just basic human contact. Weeks and weeks will go by and no one has physically reached out to me and maybe that's why I squeeze those twin boys so often and so hard. I've always needed that physical reassurance.

This afternoon, I went to get my eyebrows done because I wanted to further reinstate my Day Off From Work As A NYC Single (see also: pilates with Greta and Oprah and hot dogs). The place that I go to plays Indian music and I always feel very relaxed and comforted while I pay someone to groom me. Well, as relaxed and comforted as I can feel while someone rips the hair out of my forehead.

I know that paying someone to groom your eyebrows is kind of an extravagance. It makes me sound spoiled. Couldn't I just take twenty minutes and sit in the bathroom sink with a tweezer like I used to do? I guess so. But I get to sit back in a chair in a spa with yellow and orange walls, sipping herbal tea while Bollywood music plays in the background. You'd choose it too if you could.

Usually, after the aesthetician shows me my fabulous brows in the mirror, she rubs some sort of cream on them and then covers my forehead in a cloth that's been soaked in rosewater. It soothes the irritated skin and it is my favorite part of my whole day since rosewater is my favorite smell in the whole universe besides my dad's aftershave.

Today the spa was very quiet and I supposed the lady in charge of making me less ugly had some extra time on her hands because she moved very slowly and deliberately. After applying some cream to my forehead, she started massaging my temples. The rosewater cloth came next and I closed my eyes as she pressed her hands to my forehead and scalp. She kept running her fingers across the top of my head, all the way to my ears, applying pressure and relieving it.

At one point, she held my scalp in both of her hands and pressed her fingers into my hair. She was cradling my head in her hands and maybe she could sense how lonely I felt and maybe she couldn't but before I could stop myself, I started to cry. Maybe it doesn't count as genuine human contact since I was paying them to do it, kind of like hiring a prostitute. But maybe it does count because all I could think was that another human being was reaching out to me and holding my head like I was a child and silently telling me that everything was alright.