The sunshine yesterday made me so excited that I brought out my summer wardrobe. I put on my cute, flowy dress that I'd been hungry to wear for a while. Funny, I don’t remember it pinching my waist this much last year. Are my arms really that flabby? Damn, my thighs jiggle. A lot.
It really fucking sucks when you try your clothes on and they no longer fit.
I’ve put on weight this winter. Tally up the pounds over the last few years, and I’ve gained a lot. What can I say? It’s a shitty feeling. I’m conflicted when I see posts of people sharing–and succeeding–with their ‘clean eating’. On the one hand, I’m genuinely happy that they’ve found effective methods that have led them to better health. On the other, I look down at the bulging belly sticking out below me and I feel regret, disgust, and immense shame. How did I let myself go like this?
I’m not unfamiliar with exercise and dieting; as many of you know, I’m a little too aware of it. I can tell you the nutritional content in almost everything (no, really! If only that was a useful skill for my acting resume…). I’m aware of healthy portion sizes, how many calories one should be eating depending on their body type/activity level, and the benefits of numerous exercises. Unfortunately, having an ED throws this obsessive knowledge completely out of whack. Sometimes I want to be part of the group and join in on the detox cleanse, but it’s hard to embark on a new diet regime when your dietitian is still giving you basic tips on how to eat breakfast without having a panic attack.
I’m impatient. I like to see results fast. When things aren’t changing, I’m determined to improve until I meet my expectations. Recovering from an ED doesn’t work like that–it's messy, exhausting, and extremely fickle. One small bite of the wrong thing and you risk setting yourself up for a spiral.
I wish I could offer substantial advice for those who are going through something similar, but what I will say is this: you’re not alone. Clothes don’t fit? Don’t wear them. Buy a few new affordable things that make you feel awesome and cut off the size tag. Clothes are material. A bundle of fabric. They don’t matter. You matter. They should work for your lifestyle–not the other way around. You’re too important to let something inanimate consume what you have to offer the world.
I’m relieved that today is cloudy. I can wear my dark baggy clothes and go back to hiding. Or maybe not. Maybe I will put on something I know will fit and make me feel good. I will be mindful of my eating, being compassionate of my dieting history. I will do the best I can for today and be proud of it.
Thank you so much for auditioning for --. Over the last few days, we saw an overwhelming amount of talent. Unfortunately, due to the volume of submissions we received, we are unable to accept you…
No, I don’t want to go to your show to be reminded of why I wasn’t good enough. I don’t want to pay x amount of dollars to take a class to see how I might improve for next time.
What I do want, however, are the cookies hovering next to me, comforting me with their non-judgmental aroma. Or the alcohol greeting me seductively above the shelf. Perhaps, even, the pack of cigarettes hiding nearby for the ‘emergency only’ situations. I want to numb myself out, let the self-loathing swallow me in a destructive haze.
Or I can do something about it.
Over the last month, I have received seven rejections. About two per week – enough to let the grief subside only to have it kick you in the face again a few days later. I’m used to hearing ‘no’ at this point, but lately I’ve been on a roll.
A good friend of mine sent me an article about how artists should aim for 100 rejections per year: http://lithub.com/why-you-should-aim-for-100-rejections-a-year/. In the same vein, one of my recent group therapy sessions encouraged us to try a 30 day challenge to help improve our self-esteem:
https://www.ted.com/talks/matt_cutts_try_something_new_for_30_days. My goal has been daily meditation, which, other than the two days where I genuinely forgot, I’ve actually managed to stick with. It feels good.
I have a new objective; one that requires an exhausting amount of self-compassion and vulnerability. For the next month, I will apply to something every day in the hopes that I get rejected.
And just as I finish writing this blog, I get an email offering me an interview. Let’s see how much I can fuck this one up ;)
“For she had a great variety of selves to call upon, far more than we have been able to find room for, since a biography is considered complete if it merely accounts for six or seven selves, whereas a person may have many thousand…” – Virginia Woolf, Orland
I get restless easily. If I stay somewhere for too long, I travel. When I drink a cup of tea, I have to keep readjusting it so that every sip tastes just right. If I’m with someone, I break it off.
I get restless with myself. Young Sarah, Adolescent Sarah, Present Sarah–I understand these temporal identities, but my restlessness comes from Sarahs in certain states of mind. On the surface we can remember ourselves, but how do we tap in to what it truly felt then, rather than a glossed impression of that memory?
“Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity”. I was first introduced to Wordsworth's iconic quote seven years ago. I am blessed to pursue a field that is focused on awareness: sensory awareness, emotional awareness, awareness of those around me and how I might affect them. Everyone has the capacity to experience heightened awareness, but rediscovering them-be it through poetry or performance-is the hardest part.
When I don’t take time to reflect and meditate on past experiences, I lose sense of myself. I feel a void that I try to artificially fill through food, alcohol, or, most often, technology. (If you haven’t already watched Louis CK’s profound video, I highly recommend you do so. Now: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HbYScltf1c)
I often hear from actors (myself included) that we are drawn towards the art form because we feel more alive within the text than we do in daily life. This mindset, romantic as it may seem, is also dangerous; we need to live raw experiences in order to bring our unique perception of the world into the work.
I get anxiety attacks. I’ve worked hard to make this Sarah go away, but after countless therapy sessions and medications, she just won’t seem to leave. I’m at a place in my life where I can now stop her before she comes on too strong. Yet sometimes I fail. I scream, I cry, I become self-destructive. I lie restless in a dizzying chaos.
Once she leaves, my vision shifts. I notice specks of dirt in the carpet and cracks on the wall. My thoughts become unclogged; a bathroom sink, too long sprayed at the surface, running smoothly after a deep cleanse. I pick myself up. I go outside and absorb the fresh air. Memories long abandoned flood in. There she is. I found her.
Hey, 16 year old Sarah skipping class on a foggy day to look at a cat,
Hi, 20 year old Sarah sitting on a park ledge in Montreal watching trains go by,
Hello, 24 year old Sarah getting athlete’s foot from wet shoes in China,
Come in, it’s been a while.
When I avoid emotions I go into pilot-mode. There’s a weight in my chest, but I’m too doped up on social media to really sort it out. I ignore the heaviness until it becomes a dull ache–one I can sense isn’t true to who I am, but manageable enough to make it to my next appointment.
No, I don’t want to condone regular bursts of frantic, erratic behaviour as the key to healthy living, but maybe negativity isn’t always bad. Maybe allowing anger, sadness, and fear to occasionally take over isn’t an immoral thing to do. Giving ourselves the chance to disconnect can help us from feeling too disconnected.
In a hungover, mildly existential New Year’s stupor, I bought myself a round trip flight to China. To my surprise, this impulsive decision was met with congratulatory praise. I couldn’t understand why people were applaudingme–all I had done was max out my visa card. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
It’s been 8 months since I embarked on this journey and I’m still trying to process it. I get mixed feelings whenever I look at the little bump on my upper lip. Some days, it’s a badge of honour–a proud emblem of my independence and untameable spirit. On others, (i.e. most), it’s an annoying reminder of my clumsiness and another excuse for casting directors not to hire me.
When I describe my trip to China, I tend to jump right to the part where I smashed my face, losing my two front teeth, seven stitches on my mouth (without anesthetic!), some hot bruises, a thumb that still hurts and a sexy concussion. Yeah, that hospital trip was a big part of the adventure, but a lot of other stuff happened too. I met incredible people and saw things I may never see again. How to encapsulate these three weeks of worldly as well as personal discovery?
Mount Huangshan. A mountain range in the southern Anhui province of eastern China, this World Heritage Site is described as the most beautiful mountain in China. I’ve always had an affinity for mountains, so this was definitely on my ‘must-see’ list. Aside from the Facebook video I posted (the one where I look tired and delirious), I haven’t told many people about this two-day epic.
Using journal extracts, I have tried to make this account as truthful and accurate as possible. The tense changes depending how well I remember things. Oh, and the italics mean it’s a journal entry…PS I’m not much of a writer…Okay enough excuses, I bring you: Mount Huangshan!
April 27th, 2016:
It’s early and the clouds are covering the sky. I wanted to go to Mt Huangshan yesterday, but it was too rainy.
Brave. I keep hearing that word over and over. I am not brave. I just don’t realize how insane my ideas are until after the fact. My massive Lonely Planet has been my bible throughout this trip. I don’t know where I’d be without it. The other most cherished item (aside from my passport) is my white figurine elephant. Given by my beloved amigas Kerri-Ann and Maria, they got it while they were travelling in Malaysia. It reminds me that I’m never alone.
I’m in a bus with one other passenger as we travel from our hostel to the entrance of the mountain. I originally planned just to spend a day exploring, but Lonely Planet recommended that I stay overnight at the Beihai hotel, where it is apparently the best location to watch the sun rise.
I get off the bus and am greeted by more fog. It’s cold and I’m not properly dressed for this damp weather. LP suggests that I stock up on supplies now as prices increase the higher up you go. I buy a cheap, large children’s sweater with a poorly printed image of Mount Huangshan on the front and as many nuts, milk-teas and water bottles my back can handle. Though I can’t see the mountain’s full size, the shape is intimidating.
Climb the mountain, Sarah. You can do it. Take as many stops as you need to. The weather is shit, but it will get better by the afternoon. Everyone is cheering for you. You can do it!
Once I’m set to go, I have to take another bus that will either bring me to the East or Western entrance. I refer to LP:
“The 15km western route has some stellar scenery, but it’s twice as long and strenuous as the eastern steps, and much easier to enjoy if you’re clambering down rather than gasping your way up.”
Pft, cable cars. If I’m going to walk down a mountain, I want to feel what it is to climb it first. Western steps all the way.
I purchase my ticket which, thanks to my student card, gives me a highly discounted rate compared to regular admission. I’m told where to find my bus, but already I manage to get lost in the station. As I meander outside, a man approaches me:
“Miss, are you looking for the bus that takes you to the longer trail?”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure where to go.”
“Not to worry, the line is just over here. Do you have a map?”
“I do, but it’s not very good–I can hardly make out the words.”
“Here, take a photo of mine, it’s very detailed. I’m a photographer and I want to make sure I take pictures of the best sites. So where are you from?”
“Canada, and yourself?”
We hop on the bus and away we go. As we are let off, I take a few photos before heading towards the ticket booth. When I reach for my ticket, it’s not there.
Of course. I’m always losing things. I check and triple check my pockets, wallets and bags…nothing. I go to the booth, hoping my tears of distress will prove that I had in fact purchased a ticket, but no luck. With the few words I’d learned, I ask if I can purchase another student ticket. Nope. Not a chance. I purchase regular admission and head inside. I sit down on some wet rocks and start crying. I know I’m overacting but I’m overwhelmed and sleep deprived and anxious about this climb. If I’m dumb enough to lose my ticket before even entering, how am I mentally fit enough to climb this monster? During my fit, a woman asks if I’m okay and if I’ve lost something. “No, I’m fine”. My response is cold. I don’t want her help. She looks at me, concerned, then walks away. I recover myself and start to walk.
I climb. And climb. And climb and climb and climb and climb. Sweat seeps through my first layer of clothing. Don’t stop. Keep moving. Need to see sunrise. I compulsively check my map wondering if I’ve climbed farther than I actually have. By no means am I an expert when it comes to stair climbing, but I’m not foreign to it, either. I ran up Mont Royal regularly when I lived in Montreal. What gets me is the steepness of these narrow stairs. It isn’t a gradual elevation, they just go…up.
Exhausted, I take another break. As I sit, a long, horizontal blob approaches me. When it draws nearer, I see that it’s a man balancing a large wooden pole on his back with buckets of supplies hanging from both ends. He’s absolutely soaking through the loose clothes that are hanging from his thin, yet strong body. My perspiration is a joke. I watch as he expertly climbs the tiny steps. Any sudden movement could ruin his balance. Not only is this man carrying an unimaginably heavy, awkward weight, but he’s also on the lookout for tourists. As people hustle by, they do not stop for him. No, he stops for them. Like a tightrope dancer, he skillfully maneuvers himself so that others can pass through. Without hesitation, he carries on. Surely there must be a better way to bring goods up the mountain…Couldn’t they transport supplies via helicopter? The man sees me staring at him and asks, “Miss? Water? Apples? Water?” I shake my head, offering an awkward smile. My ignorance is showing. What on earth am I doing here, by myself?
The hours tick by and I go into pilot mode: climb, avoid pole carriers, rest, drink water, urinate, repeat. Eventually, I reach “heaven’s passage”. Fenced by mountain walls, the path is illuminated whenever the sun passes through. Although the sun is blocked by clouds, I sense a brighter presence at the end of the passage. Halfway through, I start coughing wildly. I try to be discreet but mucus is pouring out of all my facial orifices. Tissues at this point are futile. Thanks to Papa’s genes I am infamously congested 365 days of the year. After this violent discharge, I feel light. I can breathe clearly. Inhaling, exhaling, I bask in wonderful, glorious, vast amounts of air.
I make it to Mercy Light Temple, a resting area where you have the opportunity to take a cable car further up the mountain. My brain is too hazy to make any decisions, so I buy two hard boiled eggs and a roasted stick of corn and sit. I’m uneasy. The clouds are worsening the further up I go. I see a group of people taking photos at one of the mountain’s landmarks, but it’s too misty to make out what they’re posing with. I don’t want to wait in line or pay for the cable cars, so I finish my small meal and head onward.
At each viewpoint, I pass in eager anticipation hoping that I will see something, but the fog overrules the mountain’s beauty. Why am I here? Keep moving. What’s the point? Need to see sunrise. My only awareness is of my body and the Sisyphean backpack slowly burying me into the earth. In a thigh-aching trance, someone taps my shoulder:
“I’ve been carrying this with me the entire way. You told me you weren’t looking for anything when I asked you, but I know this is yours. Here.”
My student ticket. I stare at the thin piece of paper as the woman walks away. My panic attack would have been put to rest had I simply told her what I was looking for. I wouldn’t have paid for another full priced ticket. I would have been thankful and relieved. Instead, I was too absorbed in my own frustrations to accept this kind stranger’s help.
I made it. Barely.
My brain can hardly think anymore. I think this was worth the trip, but I would never do it again. Everything happens for a reason, right? I think I’m just exhausted. I know this journey will find its meaning when I’m in a clearer state of mind.
Wow. This must be a record for going to bed.
China kicks ass but it’s also been kicking mine. Huangshan has been disappointing but also not. It’s been an experience, that’s for sure. Definitely the hardest part of the trip. I think Hangzhou/Beijing will be a breeze in comparison, but who knows.
I’m praying that the clouds clear a little so I can see the sunrise. Please, oh please God/Mother Nature, let me at least see some of your beauty.
April 28th, 2016, 2:36pm:
I sometimes worry that I won’t remember all the events that happened on this journey. But I guess as long as the feeling/impression stays, then I’m winning. I think the memories that really matters will stick, anyway.
At dawn, I saw the Aleph. What a spectacular sunrise. It was so quick, but in that moment I understood all poetry, art, and creativity. It was immaculate.
I’m halfway done my trip. Huangshan drained me mentally and physically. Who knows what’s in store, but I’m ready now for more of a vacation rather than adventure!
Sometimes the simplest metaphors are the most powerful: all day yesterday, I couldn’t see anything. I kept climbing and climbing, not knowing why or where I’d end up. I am so blessed to have caught some of this magnificent landscape. I’m also so glad I walked back down rather than take a cable car. It gave me the chance to experience all the hidden gems that were surrounding me. Sometimes, everything you need is right in front of you–all you need is patience and the willingness to see.
December 31st, 2016, 7:21PM:
2016 is almost over. This has been a marathon of a year for me (and the world, it seems…). I look outside my window and actually wish for snow so that it could cover all the shit and mistakes I made this year. But the snow doesn’t stay here in Toronto. It just melts.
I don’t know what 2017 will bring for me, but I can’t not let this year affect the woman I will become. China was too complex to simplify it as a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ experience. I’m still stumbling through life, but some valuable takeaways I can appreciate from this year are:
1) Don’t push yourself to exhaustion. It’s not sexy and you won’t work as well anyway.
2) Ask for help. The ones that matter will have your back when your boulder gets too heavy. Always.
3) Be aware. Fear is okay. Anger is normal. Anxiety and stress can be healthy. Acknowledge it, embrace it, and move on.
4) Petty things are petty and nothing more.
5) Don’t give your life to others. It’s not fair to them or yourself. Be loving, open, and generous, but know that your life is your own. Embrace the shit out of it.
6) Trust your intuition. The little voice we all have inside is right more often than we allow it to be.
Goodnight 2016. Thanks for everything.
In 4 weeks I have worked approximately 336 hours. That's 84 hours a week, 12 hours per day. No days off.
I'm so glad I had the chance to visit Scotland when I could. It was the calm before the storm. I thought I had experienced symptoms of burn-out before, but this month kicked my ass. I'm not trying to brag about how much I worked; quite the opposite. What I've learned in this time is to set my priorities straight and throw all the meaningless mundane shit out the window. Life's too short to get caught up in stupid stuff.
Things are changing faster than I can keep up with. Some are good, some are painful. It doesn't matter what my feelings are towards them, change is afoot.
I'm scared. I'm excited. I don't know who I am. Maybe a paltry blog post will make things better. Maybe not.
Just focus on what you love. Fight for who you care for. Never take people who matter to you for granted. With a blink, they can be gone forever.
I promised I wouldn't do this to myself. I set out to make a website, and I fully intended on keeping it up to date.
Three posts later: Shit hits the fan.
This summer was nuts. I'm still trying to process it all. Maybe I'll write about it, but not tonight. I kept procrastinating on a new post because I just 'didn't have the time'. The longer I stalled, the bigger I made the task seem to be. Christ, it's just a blog post that probably not many will people read anyway. WHO CARES. Right? RIGHT?
I leave for Scotland tomorrow. "What for?" I've been asked, by too many people. I don't have an answer. Truthfully, I was hungover, depressed, and I saw a super stellar flight deal. I don't really have the time or funds to be going on another trip, especially after the clusterfuck that China was, but hey...YOLO.
Currently reading: Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond (which always gets commented on when I'm at work) and Ego is the Enemy by Ryan Holiday. I'm liking them both, but I won't be bringing either on my trip because A) they're dense and I want to relax and B) they are simply too heavy to lug around.
Thanks for reading; let's hope I won't wait months for the next post :)
Ah, actors: continuously in that 'first date' phase, rarely making it to second base. Are you an actor and have you read Audition by Michael Shurtleff? If not, do it. Now. Like, right now. I'll wait.
Now that we’re familiar with Schurtleff's delightful work, I wanted to write about something that actors go through on a (if you’re lucky) weekly basis: auditions.
Let me be up front: I. hate. auditioning. period. Yes, Mr. Shurtleff, I know I must learn to love them since it’s a huge chunk of my job and yes, I know I’m auditioning the panel just as much as they’re auditioning me, but nevertheless–I don’t like them. I don’t like the way my heart beats as I try to find the space (which takes forever since my nerve-wracked brain isn’t thinking clearly). I don’t like how I inevitably compare myself to the other actors that are also waiting to be seen. I don’t like the mumbled sounds I hear from the audition happening before me (“They’re yelling. I didn’t think to yell for my sides. Should I yell? Can I still project well? Do I need to spend more $$ on vocal training?”…). I don’t like knowing whether it is obligatory or offensive to shake hands. I especially don’t like how much I scrutinize every detail of the audition after it’s done. I know, I know, the trick is to just go and forget about it afterwards–the problem is that I can’t. How can you not think about that brief moment that may or may not determine how your career is going to pan out for the next few months?
Auditions, I’ve realized, are a lot like a first date. You already have taken a great leap by moving beyond a crush and actively pursuing someone. Finally, they show an interest. Yippee. You prepare for this event, taking in mind what you know about them will influence what you say, how you dress, and how you will act. When the day finally arrives, the anxiety sinks in and nothing goes the way you planned. That, or your date is nothing how you envisioned and you have zero chemistry. Or, even worse, everything goes swimmingly…which makes it that much more heartbreaking when you never hear from them again.
Love is a powerful emotion. It makes us vulnerable and do silly crazy things. It hurts when the love we offer to the world is unrequited. But you can’t fall in love with everyone and not everyone will fall in love with you. That’s what makes falling in love so special. Sometimes, you share a unique energy with someone and things click. If you’re lucky, you get a call back (callback, get it? GET IT?). You go on a second or third date and, if you’re really really lucky, begin an exciting new relationship.
Hang in there, my fellow first date actors. We’ll find our roles eventually. And when that acting gig is over, I’ll be there waiting with you until it’s time to go on our next date :)
If this title made you cringe as it triggered a shitty highschool experience, read on. If it didn’t, read anyways because maybe it will still be interesting andalsoImlonelyandneedreaders.
I hear the term ‘anxiety’ used so much now that I’m not even sure what it is anymore. A simple google search gave me this as the first result:
noun: anxiety; plural noun: anxieties
While this description is all well and good, my mind doesn’t always process textbook definitions. Besides, definitions are always changing for social/political economic reasons. A few decades from now, our conception of anxiety may be completely different (this doc does a decent job at illustrating the point I am trying to get at: http://www.cbc.ca/doczone/episodes/age-of-anxiety).
Jenny Lawson (my latest idol) does a smashing job (she doesn’t really smash things…I don’t think) at describing the unlikely relationship between anxiety and performing (not performing as in performer performing, but public speaking is branched with performance i.e. presenting in front of an audience [PS I use a lot of brackets and here’s a bracket within a bracket to show that I’m aware of my bracket obsession]):
“Most people are afraid of speaking in public, but I am fine onstage and I can comfortably speak in front of a thousand people. The scary thing is not being onstage…the terror and dread is in the millions of potential problems getting to that stage. What if I get lost? What if someone recognizes me? What if no one does? Where do I hide until it’s time to go on? What if when I’m hiding people see the real me … the terrified me who is boring and strange and has frightened, panicked animal eyes until she’s onstage and knows she’s in the right place and has no other choice but to speak? Then the terror melts away for a few minutes because at least for those moments I don’t have to make decisions or wonder what my face is doing. I can relax because for that brief time I have no other choice but to breathe and move forward” (Furiously Happy, 237).
You go Jenny. Just know that if I ever get the opportunity to meet you it won’t be a real ‘meeting’, because being stalked by a fan would understandably make you nervous, and I would be too nervous to say anything, anyways.
I thought it would be fun to add my own definitions inspired by an anxious person who, curiously, adores performing for people:
1) Understudy Syndrome
-The sense that one is lesser than they are–due to social and/or self-judgment– when in actuality they are one of the most hardworking, undervalued members of the production (not to be confused with Upstage Syndrome, in which the individual suffers from an ego so large that it distorts their skills out of proportion).
2) Stage 1 Left-Right Disease
-An incessant jumbling of facts, dates, and/or instructions. Contrary to common belief, the information in and of itself is unnecessarily confusing and should not be solely blamed on the patient's ‘faulty’ memory.
3) Oedipus Complexophobia
-Obsessive fear of having an Oedipus Complex, i.e. assuming that one’s ideas are stupid and wrong despite how much others may want to see it onstage.
4) SAD (Second Act Disorder)
-A constant deflation of one's achievements, believing one could do better if given 'a second chance’.
5) Chronic Curtain Call Condition
-The moment one realizes that their pursuit as an actor is more difficult than anticipated, and that maybe your parents and pragmatic friends were right after all. The façade of getting lead roles easily in school is over, and even though you smile and bow as everyone cheers during curtain call, there is still that indeterminable itch in the pit of your stomach because you know that after this production, nothing is waiting for you and it could be months until you find work again (see existentialism, nihilism, absurdism).
And there you have it. My new terms. To be frank (No, really, I can be Frank. Cast me in whatever you like), something positive that has come out of this 'waiting' phase is that I get to be more reflective. I’ve had some valuable time to think about what it is that I truly want. I get to read more (currently juggling between A Short History of Progress by Ronald Wright and The Orenda by Joseph Boyden. Yay Can Lit.) and focus on my other interests, like writing. :)
I just finished my post and then it got deleted once I uploaded an image. Thanks a lot, Alfred.
To summarize, I explained how I'm a worrier and as a result I set impossibly high standards for myself that are doomed to fail. I finished by adding some manageable goals and accepting that life doesn't always work by a schedule. I had this whole metaphor about how taking baby steps would eventually turn the "o" in worrier into an "a". (yeah, cheese to the max, but it kind of worked!). I hit enter, feeling satisfied and inspired, then boom. Words erased into technological oblivion.
I started freaking out and having all of those other explosive responses one gets when documents are erased, but it also made me realize something important: I'm a hypocrite.
As frustrating as it is to re-write a condensed version of my original post, it challenged me to put my new intentions into immediate practice. What are these posts for, if not a place to reflect on my experiences/struggles as an artist (and overall human being)? My goals might seem pretty in writing but if they aren't being utilized then they're pretty well meaningless.
So, to conclude, I'll spare you the fluffy metaphor and add two neat things that I accomplished today:
1) I finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. Admittedly, it took me a long time to get into it, but the ending was worth the wait. You know those pieces that hit you more after finishing them? If you're up for some emotionally draining (but beautifully written) material, this is your book.
2) I saw "Germinal" which is playing at the Harbourfront Centre until Saturday. Funny, witty, and colourfully imaginative, I definitely recommend checking it out: http://www.harbourfrontcentre.com/worldstage/germinal/?gclid=CO7l_Z3UvMoCFQEdaQodffACPA
I've been working on this website for half a year.
Either the perfectionist or the procrastinator in me is responsible for the prolonged delay. Or maybe it's fear. Fear of judgment, fear of negativity, fear of finally putting myself out there.
Well, it's time now. Besides, how many people are going to read this blog post anyway?
I'll keep this one short and sweet, so that it'll encourage me to write more (and perhaps you to read them!). My later posts will have more merit though, I swear.
Happy Saturday, everyone. I hope your New Year's Resolutions are still well underway, or if you're like me - you've immediately broken them and have made newer, teeny tiny goals that you may actually stick with :)