Really Trying

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Kind of a silly title, but it’s where I’m at.  I’ve started questioning myself more and more – How much am I really trying?  And I catch myself…not really trying.  Not…really trying

Wheel spinning.  Working hard at my day jobs and exhausting myself is kind of par for the course for me.  It’s a normal part of my life.  And I’m not happy with that.  Because I don’t WANT to be a professional house cleaner and photo tagger.  I don’t want to be a professional at running in place and passing out.

Examples – I want to be a writer, but I look at facebook and handle emails during my writing time.  I want to be an actress, but I don’t eat that well.  Pretty well, but pasta and pizza and chips all in one week do not a beautiful actress make.  I want to be part of a filmmaking community in LA, but I spend an awful lot of time at home, wishing for people to make movies with.  

There’s a lot of wheel spinning, even as I continue to make progress.  Good things?  I write every day, yes!  I eat a TON of vegetables and take good supplements.  Brilliant.  I work out regularly and have been losing weight.  Slowly, I’ve been getting out, seeing readings and plays…but it’s been slow.

The truth?  I’m incredibly impatient right now.  I mean, I could scream, I want things to happen so badly.  I want to make films, I want to be cast in films and in plays.  But wanting my life to happen doesn’t will anything into being.  And small actions every day are great, but not if you really really really want it.  

And I really do.

Does this make sense?  I’m trying to ask myself lately, what would I do if I really really wanted this?  If I was one of those people that just pushed with all their might…and then made it happen?  

This is not about killing myself, but it’s about working smarter with more clarity.  Planning meals and snacks ahead.  Writing without the internet.  Going to another reading and approaching people afterward.  Begin emailing the people I think might be great for my feature.  

It’s fucking scary to really really try.  

But, god, I can’t even tell you how badly I need to.  It’s not even an actual pressure from the outer world.  It’s myself needing to push.  I can’t explain it.  I pace my apartment.  I itch – physically.  I’m impatient like crazy.  Haha, is this a birthing process?  I’ll take the momentum, whatever it is.

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