Sometimes I view my life as omniscient, so here is this story of where I have been, and where I will be. I don’t feel like I am living it, but rather viewing it. Like a fly on the wall. I analyze what this girl is doing, what she is thinking and why. What makes her tick and why she wants to pursue such large projects, while feeling so insignificant. Why does she write such depressing music while she feels so happy, and why when melancholy, she can create the happiest of sounds? Why does she share more than she should? Why does she not share anything at all?
This is a story. A woman. No ordinary woman, since I believe ordinary doesn’t exist, but in her insignificance, she is significant. One day she will feel it and see it and embrace it like a long-lost friend. But in her own time, not in someone else’s timeframe. And that is okay…well later she finds.
Art is the most welcoming, yet competitive field, especially in a city swarming with them. All feel that art is important, yet are not quite there with making sure that the 1% who control the funding of the arts, actually fund artists and works in the entertainment field. This community is alive, yet sometimes isolating, especially to people who struggle with their own doubts internally. Expressionists, but either so outside of the box that many cannot fathom the meaning, or is so by the books that we know we have seen it before.
This woman finds herself perplexed in this world of Art. How can she survive with her creatives, while trying to conform? How can she fight for the arts to stay alive in the public eye, while her wallet includes parking tickets and Rite Aid receipts? How can she break out of her internal battle and connect with her fellow artists, while knowing these artists are struggling with their internal battles? The only thing she knows is that somehow, despite all these walls and obstacles, that she will make a change.
In 10th grade, she auditioned for Pippin at her high school, and walked out mid-song in tears, due to fear and self-doubt. Despite “bombing”, it came to her attention that she had something that would and would one day make it. Since then, that memory has been held like a lucky coin in her heart, and keeps rolling on because of that experience.
So what can this woman do? Well, she writes, she practices and leaves her mind in the midst of chords and mixing sounds and singing. Singing releases her anxiety, even though she is hesitant to share this talent. To her, it is her greatest superpower, and she wants to perfect it. But while she perfects it, she continues on, and slowly records her voice, not just her physical voice, but her written voice, as well as her musical voice. But for now, it is her isolated muse. She also forces herself to connect with others each day in the arts, so she can feel welcomed, not threatened. She tries to collaborate with others, but finds that not everyone wants to, and…That. Is. Okay. She gets the isolation.
She takes the negatives out slowly, and replaces them with positive outlooks. It is slow, slower than she would like, but she sees progress. For the girl in the chorus room at her high school play audition doesn’t exist anymore, nor the girl who graduated two years earlier, feeling unaccomplished and ungrateful to herself. No, those girls are no more, and her story continues on a path that is semi-clear, like the roads she drove upstate. Windy, full of trees and mountains, but a destination worth the beauty.