Uncertainty

The contents of my refrigerator: a bag of baby carrots, garlic cloves, frozen ground beef, spicy mustard.
The contents of my pantry: almond flour, some dried banana, honey, a couple of almonds.
The contents of my bank account: $914.60.

The contents of my brain: How am I going to do this?

I feel as though I am staring at a vertical cliff face which I must ascend, and I find myself wondering, "what in the world were you thinking to do this?"

I am trying to stay positive, and to live my life as a celebration of what I do have, as opposed to a funeral about what I do not. It's hard. It's hard to justify spending a sum of money on a degree which could theoretically allow me to comfortably live for at least four years, when I am afraid to go to the grocery store to spend a few bucks on buying something for dinner. It's hard to justify getting all dressed up, hair and makeup and accessories all perfectly placed, and spending time in situations with people who have some money and a steady job and assume you do as well, to smile and to laugh and to appear as though everything in your life is absolutely perfect, when I go home to scour the internet for hours for odd jobs or to cross my fingers that I will be able to teach a yoga class this week to earn some cash. It's hard to justify submitting for role after role, sending out postcard after postcard, and shelling out for new headshots, when I am barely landing an audition a month.

I feel as though I am living in a Steinbeck novel. East of Eden, perhaps Cannery Row. I am picking up my feet and shuffling down a dusty road, watching tumbleweeds or empty coke cups pass by my shoes, sweating to the beat of my hard breathing, and wondering when the wandering, the endlessness, will stop. Wondering when I will be able to not go to Whole Foods just to nibble on free cheese samples and to grab a handful of face cream samples. Wondering when I will be able to enjoy having downtime, instead of frantically searching for the next source of income. Wondering when I will be able to buy a few drinks when I'm out with friends and not just sip on water and say I'm fine.

Uncertainty is most certainly the source of all fear. I am very much ready to stop living in fear, and I am hoping that, some day, I will be able to read this post and to smile, knowing that everything ended up just as it should. I will keep on picking up my feet and trying to enjoy the scenery until then. At least Steinbeck knew that the scenery and the journey, the people, were 80% of the novel. In his dedication, Steinbeck writes to his friend, Pascal Covici, who had asked Steinbeck for a little box to put things in, when he saw Steinbeck carving a figure of wood. He writes:

Well, here's your box. Nearly everything I have is in it, and it is not full. Pain and excitement are in it, and feeling good or bad and evil thoughts and good thoughts - the pleasure of design and some despair and the indescribable joy of creation.

And on top of these are all the gratitude and love I have for you.

And still the box is not full.

-JOHN

'And still the box is not full.' That seems like a good way to look at it all.