The four-year itch

My blog is now four years and two days old. I wish I had some nostalgic words or a self-congratulatory proclamation, but I'm afraid you've found caught me at my almost melancholy.

I try (try) to keep the tone of this blog upbeat (or at least entertainingly sardonic), but on this day, exactly eight days before my next birthday, I'm not feeling it. For two years I've been fighting battles left and right to make a place for myself in a tricky business. My three refusals (refuse to give up, to compromise, to lose focus) have come in handy, but a good disposition and a lot of happy thoughts just don't cut it.

In short, I'm having my routine mid-20s crisis, a series of not-quite panic attacks in which I ask myself, "What in the world am I doing?" and "When am I going to make it?"

Long before I moved out here to pursue acting, I discovered and accepted certain showbiz norms.
1) An overnight success usually takes 10 years.
2) It's never what but who you know.
3) Even the rich are starving.
4) If you don't do something for yourself, it just means that someone else wants it more than you.
5) Acting for males is easier in their 30s.

So with as much positive werewithal as I can muster, I take these preconceived notions and apply them with a grain of salt. I tell myself daily to be patient. I focus on being genuinely happy for my fellow actors when they find work. I force myself to network, make calls and write e-mails. I've studied non-stop with a theater company for two years, twice a week, every week (and then I rehearse). I'm polite, I don't flake, and I deserve good things dammit.

As you've probably realized if you've made it this far into the black hole of my most recent rant, my mid-20s crises rarely make a lot of collective sense. So I'll break it down for you. I'm proud of my goals, I'm proud of myself, and I'm young enough to know that I have only just begun.

But some days trying to live a dream just sucks the life right out of you.