For some background, once upon a time I used to do a lot of theatre. Then I moved to the big city and 5 years later I can't get past the callback round. I mean, I got really close last year, and the director went on and on about how talented I was and that she really really wanted to give me the part because I played it so naturally - but I had the wrong face.
I get it. I have a babyface, which is awkward because I'm not petite. I'm very busty, but also very plain. I don't fit very much.
Some months I get into a slump and don't feel like bothering. Other months I get revved up again because I miss it so much. I've been collecting a series of rejections and empty voids of silence until the final cast is announced.
Anyways, just today a new audition post went up. I read through the character descriptions. Two female roles. My age range. Both described as "beautiful".
Isn't that awful?
I mean, I'm pretty sure that I've reacted this way to a number of parts, but this was the first time that I actually took conscious notice of me doing it.
Caught between that feminist voice that says I'm beautiful because I'm me, and the media-drenched society that we currently live in that says, you're cute kid, but, you ain't THAT.
I know what you're waiting for. You're waiting for me to tell you that I bucked up the courage to apply anyways, and damn it, I'm going to wow the pants off of them!
But I don't feel very wow. And while I'm trying my darnest to incorporate the things in my life that I used to love despite me deciding to live out the practical side of life, I do hit these slumps where I start to think that maybe I have been out of the game too long. I'm not even 30 yet, and some days I feel like I've gotten to old to dream outside of the box anymore.
I know this must sound silly coming from someone who is actively posting about writing and trying to sell her books, because that's a pretty big dream too. But these are the up's and down's I suppose.
I've said it a thousand times on this blog, I am my own worst critic. And right now, I think that side is winning, not because I didn't think that me and the word beautiful could live harmoniously in the same sentence, but because, even after catching myself in that thought, I can still justify it.
I was once. I never thought so at the time, and when I did look back at pictures of myself I audibly screamed out "I was freaking hot! Why didn't anyone tell me!?!?!?" Knowing full well that some people did try, and, just like now, I didn't have it in me to actually believe them.
But I also haven't looked like that since I was 17, so I'll have to settle for "but you're still beautiful on the inside!"
I don't consider myself to be particularly vain. And I don't know why I'm even posting this publicly other than the fact that I can't keep a private journal to save my life. I'm not looking for affirmation of any sort, or a feminist support group to pop up to give me a "go get 'em" pep talk.
Just an observation followed by very strong mixed feelings.
Perhaps this is why I've been focused on writing so much more in this stage of my life. At least literary rejection contains elements that I actually do have control over and can change. My words can be whatever I need to make them be.
Somewhere there's a first year psychology student adding this as one more citation to a paper that's due in five hours. I am curious what observations they're making.