This all started when 19-year-old me looked in the mirror and realized that my lovely shade of mousy brown had somehow transformed into mousy gray. I was 19, and, in most light, I had a full head of gray hair. I've been blessed to have the best stylist EVER at my beckon call, so shortly after working through the expected existential crisis, I was in his chair, watching my hair transform into a lovely shade of auburn.
He created a monster.
I quickly learned that red hair is the hardest color to keep up with, so, thanks to my never remembering what shade I used, my touch-ups turned into (not so) subtle color changes. Unfortunately, I was on a student's salary, so my dye jobs were typically done in a friend's kitchen. Hey, I got free food while I waited for the color to set, so it wasn't all bad! I was crazy experimental back then -- if it's a shade of red that you can buy at CVS, it was on my head. I'd love to tell you that being a brazen ginger was a fantastic time, but 97% of those shades made my skin look fluorescent yellow (damn my awkward skin tone) -- or, more often, I just looked like a foolish college student who was discovering what fun hair dye could be. OH. I was also getting wickedly curly perms through all of this. This was a dark period in my life, kids.
Fall 2009 brought a nice round of sanity with it. I cut nearly a foot of (orange) hair off (it was frizzy perm growth (did I mention that it had turned orange?), so I was not upset in the least to see it go) and had my stylist take me to a nice, sane chocolate-y brown. I finally looked closer to my age, and I spent the winter trying out different shades of brown... until I realized that I had been unintentionally working my way darker and darker.
In the spring before I graduated college (eww, weird December graduate alert), I snap-decisioned a really really REALLY short haircut. I'm talking... nearly shaved on the right side of my head. Part of the decision was due to my wanting to thoroughly erase all the damage the red dye and perms had left behind, but 3/4 was entirely my walking into the salon and saying "Let's do something new." I also let all of the dye grow out with the short haircut. Graduating college puts you in a bettering-yourself state of mind, so it was only natural to do.
I was actually okay with the ashy brown through most of that summer. It wasn't as shockingly gray since my hair was short, and it was definitely awesome feeling something healthy and natural on top of my head. ...And then I found Feria's midnight collection. Black dyes, with either red, purple or BLUE undertones? I was there. The red black faded to an auburn that reminded me too much of my previous mistakes, sadly, so I decided to say "Screw it" to being mainstream, and picked up purple. God, that purple black. It was just your average pitch black in indoor lighting, but a brilliant eggplant whenever I hit the sun. It also made my first showers after dye jobs look like murder scenes because of how much red and pink was rinsing out, but whatever.
And then there was the blue black. Starry Night. The best thing to happen to my hair since that very first auburn dye job, back in 2007. It was just black enough to be considered a natural shade when I was at work, but the second you put me under the sun or stage lights, I had blue hair. Blue hair!!! Do you know how awesome that made me feel? I stayed with that color for much longer than any other; for almost a year, I paraded around my blue hair like the proud little kid I am.
Then... I realized that blonde was the only color I'd never done. My hair was actually bright white blonde until I was 3 years old, but obviously, that was irrelevant in my thought process. Plus, since Amy Poehler holds the lady hero key to my heart, following her lead is something I'm always eager to do. For whatever reason, after years of bizarre hair colors, this was the one that gave me serious anxiety, though. I was terrified as I sat under my stylist's hairdryer. Since I'm a moderately paranoid child of the internet age, I spent the hours before my appointment reading up on bleach horror stories.
Thankfully, I had nothing to worry about, and, at least for the extended time being, I'm pretty sure my color-changing days are over. I really like being blonde. We do have more fun. Of course, that doesn't mean I've ruled out throwing in sections of pink every now and then, but I don't think we'll see that god-awful red ever again.
There's something wonderfully therapeutic about tweaking your appearance in an afternoon. I... might blame this blog post on hair dye fumes since I just touched up my color.
Um, if you want a glimpse of some of my color mistakes/triumphs, go through my album of profile pictures on Facebook. Look! A link!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Children? HA! Husband? HAHA!!!
Earlier this week, over on Tumblr, I was asked where I saw myself in five years. After giving that response -- living in a studio apartment in NYC because even though I'll hopefully be able to afford bigger, I'll be throwing all my money into classes at UCB -- I was asked why I didn't see marriage or children in my future. I explained my answer on Tumblr but since this is my real blog, I figured I'd elaborate here because I do what I want.
I spend a lot of time with children. I always have. Volunteering at church pretty much guarantees that 99% of your time is full of JESUS LOVES ME THIS I KNOW and the like. Plus, almost every customer I interact with at work is under the age of 12. I don't dislike children and I can't tell you how many times I've stopped everything at my cash register because a cute little infant's eyes are making me melt. But... that's it. That's the extent of my maternal instinct.
"HAHAHA. Just you wait, Meredith. I'll remind you of this conversation when I get the invitation to your first baby shower!"
If I had a dime for every time I shook my head at that response... I'd already be living in that NYC studio. I'm in my mid-20s. This isn't some fleeting thought that seemed cool at the time. I've been of the child-rearing age for, like, 10 years now (wh...), and I've known this about myself for just as long. Believe me, I'm aware that for every person who just naturally oozes that maternal instinct, there is someone who, when they are there in the maternity ward, suddenly become mother of the year. And... I am neither woman. Don't get me wrong -- I think it's completely admirable for a woman to either devote herself to the challenges of motherhood or take them on while maintaining an ordinary job. Both routes take an insane amount of dedication that I can't picture many men competently handling.
But when I sit back and look at myself? At all of my ambitions and goals and the little quirks that make me who I am? Being a mother is nowhere in that. That bit of knowledge is, quite frankly, the ONLY bit of my future that I am 100% certain about. I take a great deal of comfort in that since so much of my future is entirely up in the air. Obviously, I see myself in New York City, but wanting a job on SNL is so outlandish and based so solely on chance that I've had to get used to living my life by the seat of my (currently, purple floral print) pants. Knowing one thing about my future is what keeps me sane when I spend most of my time in my head wondering if today will be the day I find the job that will take me to NYC.
And then... there's the (lack of a) husband thing.
I know that my whole never-wanting-to-be-a-mother definitely turns away several guys, right off the bat. While I am completely okay with random hook-ups and weird nights that can only be excused by the fact that I'm a 20-something, the flip side there is that I AM a 20-something and, at least in this suburban nightmare that I call home, ladies my age are expected to be settling down right about now. I can't keep track of how many former classmates I see at work, with two, three kids listed on their family zoo memberships.
I'm fairly certain that at least half of this ~realization about myself~ has been caused by all that ~uncertainty about my future~ (SQUIGGLES). I had to end my healthiest relationship because of uncertainty. Granted, we were young (so we set the world on fiyah), but I knew in my gut that because I had no idea where I saw myself professionally and as a person in five years, there was no way I could string a man along and be content with myself.
Maybe, when I finally find myself in New York, I'll find a man who is as into comedy as I am (I cancel plans around SNL, guys) and who doesn't want children and will just be happy with me and all my weird commitment issues and flaws. I mean... in addition to watching so many relationships fail around me, I've watched countless friends entirely lose the very essences of who they are, just to fit into a romance. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that I haven't changed myself for a guy, but each time, when I finally came to my senses, I was able to get back to myself and my priorities and the things that make me who I am. I know, I know... when I find that guy that doesn't make me change who I am, I'll be taking back this entire post and I'll be happy. I've heard that a million times, guys.
But... there's a really big, brassy part of me that doesn't want to find that guy. I've always been a horrifically logical person. Being an only child set me up for lots of evenings full of getting lost in my own mind. While that's typically a really dark, dangerous place that leads to a lot of angsty nights that even Prisoner of Azkaban-era Harry Potter would be ashamed of, it's also shed some really helpful insights on who I am.
Although I lack self-confidence far more often than I'd like to let on, I am a fiercely independent woman. While there is a part of me that loves when a guy opens a door for me and all those other romantic cliches... most of me hates them, I'm not a bra-burning feminist by ANY means but... I'm not helpless. When I'm in the moment, I can let myself go, but when it comes down to it, I do not let myself get swept off my feet. I'm entirely aware that this can be a fault VERY easily but I'm feeling comfortable with myself tonight, so... it's a good thing. I like being able to keep my head on my shoulders. I like who I am when I have my head on my shoulders instead of in the clouds. I like being able to put a reason behind my feelings and actions, instead of letting instinct take control.
Watch, hoards of replies will come to this post, from tons of guys who have quietly admired me from the sidelines but have always been too afraid to make a move on such a fierce lady.
Until then... I'm going to enjoy my Friday night ritual of beer and pizza at my favorite coffeeshop, by myself. I like being a single lady. I'm... NOT going to break into a Beyonce chorus right now.
:)
I spend a lot of time with children. I always have. Volunteering at church pretty much guarantees that 99% of your time is full of JESUS LOVES ME THIS I KNOW and the like. Plus, almost every customer I interact with at work is under the age of 12. I don't dislike children and I can't tell you how many times I've stopped everything at my cash register because a cute little infant's eyes are making me melt. But... that's it. That's the extent of my maternal instinct.
"HAHAHA. Just you wait, Meredith. I'll remind you of this conversation when I get the invitation to your first baby shower!"
If I had a dime for every time I shook my head at that response... I'd already be living in that NYC studio. I'm in my mid-20s. This isn't some fleeting thought that seemed cool at the time. I've been of the child-rearing age for, like, 10 years now (wh...), and I've known this about myself for just as long. Believe me, I'm aware that for every person who just naturally oozes that maternal instinct, there is someone who, when they are there in the maternity ward, suddenly become mother of the year. And... I am neither woman. Don't get me wrong -- I think it's completely admirable for a woman to either devote herself to the challenges of motherhood or take them on while maintaining an ordinary job. Both routes take an insane amount of dedication that I can't picture many men competently handling.
But when I sit back and look at myself? At all of my ambitions and goals and the little quirks that make me who I am? Being a mother is nowhere in that. That bit of knowledge is, quite frankly, the ONLY bit of my future that I am 100% certain about. I take a great deal of comfort in that since so much of my future is entirely up in the air. Obviously, I see myself in New York City, but wanting a job on SNL is so outlandish and based so solely on chance that I've had to get used to living my life by the seat of my (currently, purple floral print) pants. Knowing one thing about my future is what keeps me sane when I spend most of my time in my head wondering if today will be the day I find the job that will take me to NYC.
And then... there's the (lack of a) husband thing.
I know that my whole never-wanting-to-be-a-mother definitely turns away several guys, right off the bat. While I am completely okay with random hook-ups and weird nights that can only be excused by the fact that I'm a 20-something, the flip side there is that I AM a 20-something and, at least in this suburban nightmare that I call home, ladies my age are expected to be settling down right about now. I can't keep track of how many former classmates I see at work, with two, three kids listed on their family zoo memberships.
I'm fairly certain that at least half of this ~realization about myself~ has been caused by all that ~uncertainty about my future~ (SQUIGGLES). I had to end my healthiest relationship because of uncertainty. Granted, we were young (so we set the world on fiyah), but I knew in my gut that because I had no idea where I saw myself professionally and as a person in five years, there was no way I could string a man along and be content with myself.
Maybe, when I finally find myself in New York, I'll find a man who is as into comedy as I am (I cancel plans around SNL, guys) and who doesn't want children and will just be happy with me and all my weird commitment issues and flaws. I mean... in addition to watching so many relationships fail around me, I've watched countless friends entirely lose the very essences of who they are, just to fit into a romance. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that I haven't changed myself for a guy, but each time, when I finally came to my senses, I was able to get back to myself and my priorities and the things that make me who I am. I know, I know... when I find that guy that doesn't make me change who I am, I'll be taking back this entire post and I'll be happy. I've heard that a million times, guys.
But... there's a really big, brassy part of me that doesn't want to find that guy. I've always been a horrifically logical person. Being an only child set me up for lots of evenings full of getting lost in my own mind. While that's typically a really dark, dangerous place that leads to a lot of angsty nights that even Prisoner of Azkaban-era Harry Potter would be ashamed of, it's also shed some really helpful insights on who I am.
Although I lack self-confidence far more often than I'd like to let on, I am a fiercely independent woman. While there is a part of me that loves when a guy opens a door for me and all those other romantic cliches... most of me hates them, I'm not a bra-burning feminist by ANY means but... I'm not helpless. When I'm in the moment, I can let myself go, but when it comes down to it, I do not let myself get swept off my feet. I'm entirely aware that this can be a fault VERY easily but I'm feeling comfortable with myself tonight, so... it's a good thing. I like being able to keep my head on my shoulders. I like who I am when I have my head on my shoulders instead of in the clouds. I like being able to put a reason behind my feelings and actions, instead of letting instinct take control.
Watch, hoards of replies will come to this post, from tons of guys who have quietly admired me from the sidelines but have always been too afraid to make a move on such a fierce lady.
Until then... I'm going to enjoy my Friday night ritual of beer and pizza at my favorite coffeeshop, by myself. I like being a single lady. I'm... NOT going to break into a Beyonce chorus right now.
:)
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Who let me have a blog again, anyway?
I haven't posted here since September 11... whoops. I actually started a handful of posts after that, but most of them just turned into really shitty sequels of that post, so I trashed them. I also have a draft of a horrendously emo post that I thought would be ~awesome and revealing~ last week when I was in a weird, bleak mood, but the mood passed and so did my motivation to write like the 14-year-old version of myself. By whatever stroke of luck (read: typical misunderstandings between departments at work), I wound up with today off, though, and since it's a perfectly dreary autumn day, I decided to light some candles, listen to Grizzly Bear, and see what sort of blog post I could come up with (sorry in advance).
I guess I could talk about the Emmy's, even though there isn't too much that excited me? Amy Poehler was, in a word, confidence, and that was the highlight of the evening for me. I've always admired her take-charge attitude, but apparently, when you divorce Will Arnett, you exude sunshine and sexiness and wild, raging confidence that is more memorable than the rest of a three-hour award show. As far as the actual winners go... Aaron Paul's acceptance speech was one of the loveliest, most gracious speeches I've seen in a long time, and it made me that much more excited to get started on Breaking Bad when I finally finish all of SNL on Netflix (but I am going to watch Weeds first because of my newfound love of Kevin Nealon). Although I obviously hate everything about Two and a Half Men, I'm happy for Jon Cryer -- he's been stuck in Charlie Sheen's obnoxious shadow for far too long and it was nice seeing the better guy get some recognition for once. Julia Louis-Dreyfus will forever and always be one of my favorite funny ladies, and her moment with Amy was perfect, which was to be expected. The Stewart/Colbert/Fallon fight was honestly more entertaining than Kimmel's whole epic prank with Tracy Morgan, which was... flat. I think it would have been more entertaining if it had happened earlier in the show. Mainly, I'm just sick of sitting through three hours of an award show (where all the shows/actors I root for lose anyway) AFTER three hours of red carpet. At least Poehler was flawless.
Um, let's see... It's been over a month now since I went to UCB and I am going through serious withdrawal. I just want to do comedy. I honestly never thought of myself as the cliche ~funny person~, but lately, I've been more actively aware of when moderately amusing things come to mind. Like any kid who grew up watching Saturday Night Live, I've definitely thought about what it would be like to be standing onstage at 8H during Lenny Pickett's closing theme, but more and more, it's becoming something that I really WANT to do. It's so frustrating, because I live in a city where the only website with any info on improv classes around here is for sessions that started in February 2010. If there WERE any classes offered around here, I'm more than a little afraid that they'll be full of Michael Scotts who will just shoot up the entire scene every time anything good gets going. So... until I win the lottery, I'll just keep scouring NYC job sites for something for a girl with no relevant experience who just really, really likes the city. And, I'll keep tweeting stupid things at the funny people I want to work with. Someday, you'll hear Don Pardo, age 115, saying my name (after arduous lessons on how to pronounce my last name, no doubt).
What else???
Oh, I guess I should join everyone else ever on the internet so I can keep my blog relevant? Yes, I thought I ironically downloaded Gangnam Style but decided it's ultimately sort of catchy. No, I did not pre-order the iPhone 5 (but I will be getting it when my first ZooBoo check is in my bank account). I FEEL ANGRY FEELINGS TOWARD THE REPLACEMENT REFS AND HAVE THOUGHT UP ALL SORTS OF PUNNY INSULTS.
...This has been an absolutely pitiful attempt to force myself back into regular blogging. Sorry, two readers.
I guess I could talk about the Emmy's, even though there isn't too much that excited me? Amy Poehler was, in a word, confidence, and that was the highlight of the evening for me. I've always admired her take-charge attitude, but apparently, when you divorce Will Arnett, you exude sunshine and sexiness and wild, raging confidence that is more memorable than the rest of a three-hour award show. As far as the actual winners go... Aaron Paul's acceptance speech was one of the loveliest, most gracious speeches I've seen in a long time, and it made me that much more excited to get started on Breaking Bad when I finally finish all of SNL on Netflix (but I am going to watch Weeds first because of my newfound love of Kevin Nealon). Although I obviously hate everything about Two and a Half Men, I'm happy for Jon Cryer -- he's been stuck in Charlie Sheen's obnoxious shadow for far too long and it was nice seeing the better guy get some recognition for once. Julia Louis-Dreyfus will forever and always be one of my favorite funny ladies, and her moment with Amy was perfect, which was to be expected. The Stewart/Colbert/Fallon fight was honestly more entertaining than Kimmel's whole epic prank with Tracy Morgan, which was... flat. I think it would have been more entertaining if it had happened earlier in the show. Mainly, I'm just sick of sitting through three hours of an award show (where all the shows/actors I root for lose anyway) AFTER three hours of red carpet. At least Poehler was flawless.
Um, let's see... It's been over a month now since I went to UCB and I am going through serious withdrawal. I just want to do comedy. I honestly never thought of myself as the cliche ~funny person~, but lately, I've been more actively aware of when moderately amusing things come to mind. Like any kid who grew up watching Saturday Night Live, I've definitely thought about what it would be like to be standing onstage at 8H during Lenny Pickett's closing theme, but more and more, it's becoming something that I really WANT to do. It's so frustrating, because I live in a city where the only website with any info on improv classes around here is for sessions that started in February 2010. If there WERE any classes offered around here, I'm more than a little afraid that they'll be full of Michael Scotts who will just shoot up the entire scene every time anything good gets going. So... until I win the lottery, I'll just keep scouring NYC job sites for something for a girl with no relevant experience who just really, really likes the city. And, I'll keep tweeting stupid things at the funny people I want to work with. Someday, you'll hear Don Pardo, age 115, saying my name (after arduous lessons on how to pronounce my last name, no doubt).
What else???
Oh, I guess I should join everyone else ever on the internet so I can keep my blog relevant? Yes, I thought I ironically downloaded Gangnam Style but decided it's ultimately sort of catchy. No, I did not pre-order the iPhone 5 (but I will be getting it when my first ZooBoo check is in my bank account). I FEEL ANGRY FEELINGS TOWARD THE REPLACEMENT REFS AND HAVE THOUGHT UP ALL SORTS OF PUNNY INSULTS.
...This has been an absolutely pitiful attempt to force myself back into regular blogging. Sorry, two readers.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
In which I attempt to give the universe a pep talk.
I was going to write about September 11 today.
I actually have a post half-finished in my drafts that I started on Sunday and intended to complete today with some grand emotional flourish that would set it apart from the mountains of other 9/11 posts that are flooding the internet. But then, Chris Gethard posted this response to an anonymous question, and, after bursting into tears in my work parking lot, I drove home with a different blog post filling my head. It's actually a post idea I had been mulling over for a few weeks now, but Chris' amazing words (seriously, go read that post -- and his book!) sparked something in me.
It's funny that I was thinking about this blog post on my way home from work, because that's a big basis for a lot of what I'm going to get out here. My job is not glamorous. In ANY way. A typical day's uniform is grungy sneakers, shitty khaki shorts from WalMart and a blue t-shirt that's two sizes too big (and balloons out around my hips for whatever awkward reason?). It's also a job that has literally nothing to do with my hard-earned degree. I make barely enough from paycheck to paycheck to pay for said degree. I, once again, have no idea what I'm going to do for income when the season ends and we shut down for three months. A lot of the time, I find myself on auto-pilot, telling the same old customers the same old speech about when memberships go on sale or why the train is closed.
But then, when I sit back and think about it... I realize that I am pretty damn lucky.
I'm healthy, for starters. I'm lucky enough to come from a family that doesn't have too many inherited health conditions and my grandma on my dad's side is in her 90s and still kickin', all things considered. Even if it's not what I dreamed of when I was in grade school, I have a job. It's not much and it's not perfect, but it's a job in an economy that blows. While I know that I belong in New York City and my dream is to fly through UCB and get on Saturday Night Live, and that my current money and family and career situation isn't exactly conducive to that... I have some little glimmers of hope that I could actually make at least some of that a reality for myself sometime before I beat Darrell Hammond for the title of oldest cast member ever. I have a family that has supported me through 15 years of theater and praise band concerts. I have groups of friends that could not be more different but all bring joy and laughter and support into my life.
I'm not writing this blog post to say "Wow! Look at all the awesome things I've got!" (even though that felt really good and honestly, you guys should all do that sometime). I'm hoping to put some of my life into perspective for anyone out there who needs it.
More and more often, I see people complaining about EVERYTHING. If I'm not actively participating in the rant, I have almost definitely tuned you out and am instead going over some scene changes or old SNL sketches in my head. I'm not trying to say I'm holier than all thou complainers out there. I spent the majority of this summer ranting about work -- when I was at work, at home, at breakfast after church, wherever. Stuff pisses me off ALL THE TIME and if you follow me on Twitter, you get a good taste of that.
I'm also not trying to downplay depression and other mental things out of your immediate control that definitely make it harder to see the positive in everyday situations. I've found myself in really low places so many times before, and I know all to well that feeling of never finding something worth going on for. I felt that WAY more often than I have let on, from 4th grade on, though it is less often now.
What I've wanted to scream SO many times in the past year, to real life friends, complete strangers on the internet and everyone in-between, is just to be HAPPY for once. I'm not talking, let's go skipping through the world with irresponsible optimism. That won't get you anywhere and you'll just be disappointed far more than you'd like.
I'm not in a situation that I picked for myself. I'm also not in a position to make huge changes for myself yet. So... what good would complaining do? It's a weird line that's straddled over complacency and settling, which is the absolute last thing I plan on doing. I'm not content right now, but I'm also not miserable.
That's important, and I think it's something that everyone forgets quite often.
We're not miserable all the time.
Feeling miserable and hopeless? It sucks. And while it's going on, it feels like it's never-ending. But even when I am in the shittiest of moods... it usually only lasts, at most, an evening. It might creep into the next morning but something else will happen. A coworker will give a snarky observation. My dog will look at me with her bottom teeth hanging out. And, as much as the cynic in me will try to fight it... I let myself break out of the bad mood. I shut off the inner monologue of "My job sucks, my life sucks, this sucks." I find something worth getting excited about. Sometimes, it's huge and truly exciting -- I'm STILL hanging onto the happiness that I felt at my first UCB show. Usually, though, it's one of those tiny things that doesn't seem like much on its own, but when you look back, you remember as the details that make relationships and memories what they are. Maybe I put too much into those little things. I know that I get too attached, to a fault -- to the casts I work with, to TV shows I watch, to all sorts of things and people. But that attachment to something not miserable is what keeps me going.
That's my wish for people. I just want everyone to be able to find SOMETHING, anything, that gives them a little bit of hope and that edge they need to not become a complete cynic. This could get really corny really quickly, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Just... find a TV show or a song or a person that makes you feel something even a little positive and latch onto it. Try to take some of the time you would ordinarily spend complaining and spend it instead by complimenting someone. Appreciate the fact that you're still alive, you're at least moderately healthy and you at least have enough money to have an internet connection. Write a silly blog post to attempt to get your feelings out.
And for Christ's sake, stop complaining. :)
I actually have a post half-finished in my drafts that I started on Sunday and intended to complete today with some grand emotional flourish that would set it apart from the mountains of other 9/11 posts that are flooding the internet. But then, Chris Gethard posted this response to an anonymous question, and, after bursting into tears in my work parking lot, I drove home with a different blog post filling my head. It's actually a post idea I had been mulling over for a few weeks now, but Chris' amazing words (seriously, go read that post -- and his book!) sparked something in me.
It's funny that I was thinking about this blog post on my way home from work, because that's a big basis for a lot of what I'm going to get out here. My job is not glamorous. In ANY way. A typical day's uniform is grungy sneakers, shitty khaki shorts from WalMart and a blue t-shirt that's two sizes too big (and balloons out around my hips for whatever awkward reason?). It's also a job that has literally nothing to do with my hard-earned degree. I make barely enough from paycheck to paycheck to pay for said degree. I, once again, have no idea what I'm going to do for income when the season ends and we shut down for three months. A lot of the time, I find myself on auto-pilot, telling the same old customers the same old speech about when memberships go on sale or why the train is closed.
But then, when I sit back and think about it... I realize that I am pretty damn lucky.
I'm healthy, for starters. I'm lucky enough to come from a family that doesn't have too many inherited health conditions and my grandma on my dad's side is in her 90s and still kickin', all things considered. Even if it's not what I dreamed of when I was in grade school, I have a job. It's not much and it's not perfect, but it's a job in an economy that blows. While I know that I belong in New York City and my dream is to fly through UCB and get on Saturday Night Live, and that my current money and family and career situation isn't exactly conducive to that... I have some little glimmers of hope that I could actually make at least some of that a reality for myself sometime before I beat Darrell Hammond for the title of oldest cast member ever. I have a family that has supported me through 15 years of theater and praise band concerts. I have groups of friends that could not be more different but all bring joy and laughter and support into my life.
I'm not writing this blog post to say "Wow! Look at all the awesome things I've got!" (even though that felt really good and honestly, you guys should all do that sometime). I'm hoping to put some of my life into perspective for anyone out there who needs it.
More and more often, I see people complaining about EVERYTHING. If I'm not actively participating in the rant, I have almost definitely tuned you out and am instead going over some scene changes or old SNL sketches in my head. I'm not trying to say I'm holier than all thou complainers out there. I spent the majority of this summer ranting about work -- when I was at work, at home, at breakfast after church, wherever. Stuff pisses me off ALL THE TIME and if you follow me on Twitter, you get a good taste of that.
I'm also not trying to downplay depression and other mental things out of your immediate control that definitely make it harder to see the positive in everyday situations. I've found myself in really low places so many times before, and I know all to well that feeling of never finding something worth going on for. I felt that WAY more often than I have let on, from 4th grade on, though it is less often now.
What I've wanted to scream SO many times in the past year, to real life friends, complete strangers on the internet and everyone in-between, is just to be HAPPY for once. I'm not talking, let's go skipping through the world with irresponsible optimism. That won't get you anywhere and you'll just be disappointed far more than you'd like.
I'm not in a situation that I picked for myself. I'm also not in a position to make huge changes for myself yet. So... what good would complaining do? It's a weird line that's straddled over complacency and settling, which is the absolute last thing I plan on doing. I'm not content right now, but I'm also not miserable.
That's important, and I think it's something that everyone forgets quite often.
We're not miserable all the time.
Feeling miserable and hopeless? It sucks. And while it's going on, it feels like it's never-ending. But even when I am in the shittiest of moods... it usually only lasts, at most, an evening. It might creep into the next morning but something else will happen. A coworker will give a snarky observation. My dog will look at me with her bottom teeth hanging out. And, as much as the cynic in me will try to fight it... I let myself break out of the bad mood. I shut off the inner monologue of "My job sucks, my life sucks, this sucks." I find something worth getting excited about. Sometimes, it's huge and truly exciting -- I'm STILL hanging onto the happiness that I felt at my first UCB show. Usually, though, it's one of those tiny things that doesn't seem like much on its own, but when you look back, you remember as the details that make relationships and memories what they are. Maybe I put too much into those little things. I know that I get too attached, to a fault -- to the casts I work with, to TV shows I watch, to all sorts of things and people. But that attachment to something not miserable is what keeps me going.
That's my wish for people. I just want everyone to be able to find SOMETHING, anything, that gives them a little bit of hope and that edge they need to not become a complete cynic. This could get really corny really quickly, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. Just... find a TV show or a song or a person that makes you feel something even a little positive and latch onto it. Try to take some of the time you would ordinarily spend complaining and spend it instead by complimenting someone. Appreciate the fact that you're still alive, you're at least moderately healthy and you at least have enough money to have an internet connection. Write a silly blog post to attempt to get your feelings out.
And for Christ's sake, stop complaining. :)
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