When I was in high school looking at “what I wanted to be when I grew up” I wasn’t looking to be a doctor. Sure Math and Science were what came easy to me. Just made a certain amount of intrinsic sense – you learned the rules of what an atom could do and you could predict the future. If you had H2 and O2 and applied a little energy in the right way you could make water. Very certain, exacting and sensible. Little was left to luck.
But as much as people tried to convince me that biology was my “calling”, it was all just mildly interesting to me. What I LOVED to do, on the other hand, was to perform. Singing, dancing, acting – sure I could do it all but I can’t say that there was any real god given talent there. But there was passion. I spent more practicing my new dance routines at night than I did doing my homework. There were long hours in musical rehearsals just for a few nights of glorious stage time. I loved every minute of it.
So when the time came to pick a major in college it was science v. performing arts. They were both going to be time consuming so there couldn’t be any waffling on this – I had to pick one.
Most teenagers faced with the same decision would either pick the former because science lends itself to a job better or their parents wouldn’t pay their tuition for a theater degree. Some would throw caution to the wind and go with their hearts because their minds would follow. I did neither.
I decided I couldn’t give my life to the stage because of one reason – I was not good at handling rejection. The few times I wasn’t chosen in high school were devastating for my self esteem. I could only imagine the number of auditions in the real world that I would have to go through to get one call back. So I became a geek. A sciency, uncool, study-all-the-time nerd. In a way I am proud of my decision, but I still never learned how to accept, process and release rejection. I never had to. In science you put the pieces together and it works. In school you study hard, learn the stuff in the books and ace the test. It all works out like it should.
So now that I have encountered my first real experience without any control, I ask: How do you prepare for the repetitive soul crushing defeat?
You know what that single pink line feels like. You’ve been there before – but you think . . . this time will be different. Same with auditions. Maybe I’ll get my big break! Maybe this is the one! And you go on, and you never get that call from the director and you pass by the theater with the cast list. You peer longingly and almost imagine your name there but its not. (the same way I stare at the stick trying to will a plus sign). So you move on to the next audition . . . but how long can you fail before you give up.
My 2 chest goosebumps have lost their ability to sense the weather – although logically I am thinking rain with a 99% chance of gloom. Apparently with the hcg now cleared from my system they have no point to go on – there is nothing to feed their interest and not much to feed my hope. Maybe its just the preparation message that my good old aunt flow will be stopping by. I’m not going to test early. I need a couple days before I get depressed again. It will be a few days before I post again. At this point I need to stop thinking about it. I just don’t want to know.