Ever since Halloween, Crate & Barrel has put out their Christmas ornaments, and Target has cleared that huge space for their display of flashing light crap, and this really obnoxious radio station has commenced with playing nonstop holiday music. I can't cope.
I used to love this time of year. That snap in the air, the first time you have to wear a coat (much later in south LA than here in MA), snuggling with the ones you love, drinking hot cocoa and apple cider. It's really become a downer to realize that this most wonderful time of year, with some of the best music and family gatherings, has become the time of year when I contemplate quitting my profession. Every year. Why is that, you might ask? Because the bitter pill of rejection becomes harder and harder to swallow. I used to have a lot more grace, a lot more patience, and a lot more hope. I surmised that I could make it through as long as I had a few good gigs with good people doing good music. In approximately ten days, I will start the last gig of that ilk that is on my calendar until 2011. And even thinking about that makes me queasy. I've gone through weeks and weeks of auditions, trips to NYC, peppered with visits with friends, revamping old rep, working up new rep, good sings and bad, and I'm still waiting.
Waiting is the worst. It makes you question everything. Should I really be doing this? Should I just chuck it and go to law school/med school/business school? Am I fooling myself?
Last week, I got the 1-2 punch from two opera companies within four hours, and then the salt in the wound: my bill from the union, saying my dues need to be paid. It seems like a cruel joke for them to bill me when I'm NOT WORKING. Another email last night (never check your email just before bed) saying we loved your singing, but we're still not hiring you. One of my colleagues from two summers ago said that the theme of her life seems to be: you're wonderful, we love you, but we don't want none of that.
This is usually the part where I pick myself up off the mat and give myself a pep talk about patience and longevity and how I've worked too hard to quit now. I know I'll get to the point where I can do that. Even after three miles on the dreadmill (that's care of the amazing Cindy) I'm still pretty low. I think that means I need more mileage because I can't shake this funk inside my skin. I want to believe that I'm singing for a reason, that I've been given opportunities in the past for a reason. But gosh, if it could just be a little bit easier. If companies could hold off on sending the rejection emails for a little while, or send them all at once, in the next week, so I could stop holding my breath.
In the meantime, I'm just gonna take this one day at a time. Today, I'm still a singer. Tomorrow, I'm seriously considering becoming an astronaut.
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