How its so hard for us to see those things in us, that others notice easily.
One evening last week, I found myself in the company of three lovely women.
Each of us are performers- that we have in common- although we are all at different stages of life and career.
One is a single mother of twin toddlers, one is only newly (shhhh! so new it's a secret) pregnant, and the other has no children. And then there's me. I have cats.
All of these women have experienced (and are currently experiencing) success in their careers. Two have had television series, one is currently getting tons of stage work, traveling from production to production. And then there's me.
I can't say I haven't had some sweet gigs in my day, but nothing on a national scale- well nothing consistent anyway.
And yet, as accomplished and gifted as these women are, there is that surprising level of insecurity that they expressed; it is something we all face.
In this crazy life and business where we, as Mr Beckett said "Try again. Fail again. Fail better"; where we put our insides out, offering, and expecting carrion bird critics to pick the flesh from our bones, never thinking it's good enough, second guessing countless times.. well, it's hard to see the whole good picture we present.
In that vein, I think it's important to reflect and remind each other of the fine work and gifts we own. I know how we all have our insecurities, which is the fuel to make us strive to burn better and brighter, but it doesn't hurt to have a bit of reassurance now and then. And more importantly, it is crucial that we believe it about ourselves.
Luckily, I know many women who are that supportive of their sisters. Sadly, I know many who aren't. For some reason, the competitiveness in women is very prevalent, whether it be for a role, or for a man. Or with our children.
Sometimes we get so deep in our own forest, that the trees are barely distinguishable, and so I don't think we see how beautiful our own acre is, how deep and secure the roots, and how nurturing and far reaching are our graceful branches.
We touched, that night, on the burdens we take upon ourselves, in our many roles as women; as mothers, as artists and how easy it is for us to recognize the brightness in each other, but not always ourselves. That is why it is crucial for us to reflect the light of each other back to its source, because it is truly brilliant.
It was so good for my heart to be in the company of such wonderful, creative, smart and beautiful women, but I have to admit, there were times that I felt rather inferior.
I am older. My name is no longer known in these circles. My career took another path, and that was based on choices that I had made.
There was a time when, to be honest, I was handed some pretty great parts. But then I walked away. It wasn't what I wanted. My deviance wasn't that far off, but a different path nonetheless.
I moved into music. And it was great.
But now, I feel the pull to return to that part from which I had previously turned away.
Now it feels like I am starting over, and I am starting over at an awkward age and stage.
Now I am too old and too young. I suppose that is the true meaning of middle age.
No longer sought after, I must sell myself. I must find that niche in which I now fit. I crave the challenge of text and complex characters, but I must face the fact that many of those roles have long since expired.
I am never going to play the Juliets or Ophelia's. I'm too old to play The Glass Menagerie's shy, crippled Laura, and too young to be the mother Amanda, pressing her children, and reminiscing about past gentlemen callers.
How ironic that my life's experience now makes me more equip to layer these women, to make smarter choices in the portrayal, but my physicality holds me back.
Certainly there are roles to which I am suited, but in being away from it, in taking my name off the table, I must find where they are, and convince those who don't know me. My absence has made me both rusty and sharp, reluctant and eager.
Now is the time I must work on the honing, and believe that brilliance that others claim to see.
Now it is not only time to make up for that which has passed, but to accept it.
One day you wake up and realize you are never going to play Juliet.
And then you realize that Juliet is just a whiny teenager who has a really good death scene.
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