I’ve made it through nearly four months of living in New York. It feels like four years. Real life doesn’t feel more real than it does here. The highs are higher and the lows are devastatingly lower. After a relaxing trip home for the holidays, I returned with mixed feelings. I missed my friends, sure, but I love the simplicity of being home with my parents, especially not having to worry so much on a daily basis about my newest arch nemesis, money. However, I like the independence and being able to do absolutely anything I want to.
It’s all very confusing, really. Like many things in my life. For seventeen years, I had a direction, a clear path to follow; school was a map. The map is gone now, and I’m just hoping to not fall off a cliff. It’s pretty scary a lot of the times, but also exciting. I feel strong after just four months, and I should. I’ve already made it through a lot of personal crises in a short span of time.
I can’t lie; I haven’t always been the happiest person the last few months. I’ve had some moments of great joy, but they are sometimes clouded by the hard parts. I have never been a depressed person, but I can sympathize with people who have struggled with it. I can understand that feeling where you feel low and don’t know how to climb back up from it; wallowing in the feelings of personal failure. I read somewhere a quip about most New Yorkers living and functioning each day in a low-grade depression, and I can feel that now; it’s definitely worse in the colder months when the weather is miserable, because so are the people.
I don’t think I’m a failure. I’m not ready to give up. But it is hard, and no matter how I try to communicate that to people who don’t live here and aren’t doing what I’m doing, they don’t get it. Being an artist is hard; it’s a lot of swimming upstream, hoping you have the stamina to keep your head above water until you reach your destination. For me what is hardest is getting someone, anyone, to take a chance on me and let me prove myself professionally. I just want to act. I want to tell stories. I know this is what I’m supposed to do.
I hate resolutions, so I won’t call them that. I’m going to to strive to be HAPPY in this new year. To find and live in those moments of joy and hold onto them. To use them as a light in dark times. I’ve spent too much time recently letting myself wallow in my worries and unhappiness instead of fully living in the moment and letting myself be free to experience fun and laughter and adventures with my friends. Having a HAPPY new year is the goal. It’s not always going to be fucking sunshine and lollypops, I know that, but I will do my best to smile more, laugh more, BE more.
So have a HAPPY new year, and I will strive to do the same (and post a little more).