I’m sitting here, trying to yoga breathe through a series of mild to
Claire Danes level panic attacks as I embark on one of the wildest,
riskiest journeys of my life. I’ve pooped more times today than is considered
healthy according to WebMD. I can only assume the butterflies have turned into Jamaican Fruit Bats and are likely at the height of mating season in my large
intestine. Tonight, I’ve had to come to terms with how I deal with this
kind of stress. I’ve put to use every method I’ve used since my Star Search
audition when I was 10. This is the first time I can remember being nervous.
When I found out I got the audition, I got so excited to go tell my neighbor
that I ran, full speed into our sliding glass door. After I had a good laugh
about that and got the door open, I started to run across our cul-de-sac to my
friend’s house and decided to take a pit stop to throw up. (Only I thought I
could stop it, so I put my hand over my mouth and it did one of those projectile,
squirty things through my fingers. See future blog: The greatest Throw-up of
All Time. See future blog: That time I Super-Bombed my Star Search Audition.) It’s
safe to say I’m a little excitable.
|The Jamaican Fruit Bat. Looks like an asshole.|
|Remember when this guy was cool? I coulda been Joey.|
Today, as I’ve come closer to the edge of the proverbial cliff, I began my dealing by rigorously searching my refrigerator and pantry for what can only be considered “3rd lunch.” After some pickles and tortilla chips, realized that I definitely should nap. I was exhausted from all the things I was thinking about doing. So, I turned on the 5th season of Frasier and hid under my boyfriend’s comic book blanket on the couch. But I did not sleep, nor did I watch the brilliant Kelsey Grammer. I just thought about all the things that could go wrong in life, all the things that could go right, and how I definitely didn’t have any time at all for this “nap,” and how terrible I am at life. I finally convinced myself to wake up to take some Tums (because I was so tired of pooping,) and those tasted pretty good and reminded me that I had Pixie Stix hidden in the back of my pantry. I ate 6. Oh, that’s not that bad, Andrea, you might be thinking. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Well it IS that bad. They weren’t the tiny, reasonable Pixie Stix, they were those giant ones that have no business being THAT giant. Then I was excited to notice that it was 8 o’ clock and I could definitely have dinner. I
was pretty full from the 8 pounds of sugar I
just ate, but I thought, who am I to spit
in the face of the social norm of sitting down to dinner at a decent hour?
After my hefty helping of leftover mashed potatoes, (because I simply did not
have time to prepare anything,) I thought, maybe
I should have a drink? And then I thought, well, wait a minute, Andrea. Are you having a drink because you’re nervous?
Because you really don’t need or want one. This is how alcoholics are born,
Andrea. So, I decided not to. Then I noticed there were just enough ice
cubes left in the freezer for one, good martini and I thought, Who I am I to deny these little ice cubes
the truly magical experience of a martini shaker? Now, I’m pretty sure I’m
an alcoholic and can add that to the list of things to be worried about. I didn’t
even enjoy the martini and worst of all, it did NOT help the Fruit Bats. I
still sit here, nervous, heart fluttering, just hoping this most severe case of
nerves I’ve ever experienced means that this new venture must be 100%,
without-a doubt the absolute right thing to do.
|3 feet long and they're already half digested for you. Perfect.|
As a performer, I’ve dealt with nerves before, but never like this. Not since moving to Los Angeles have I invested so much in myself. I’m banking on a belief in myself I didn’t know existed. It was instinctual, the best kind of belief, I think. I have to suppose the bigger the nerves means the greatest risk. And I’ve heard that saying, “the greater the risk, the greater the reward.” (Although, to ease my mind, I’m going to need to internet fact check that.) If your
adventures only get greater as you get older, that must be
a great thing, but how come I can’t convince my body or brain of this? The
unfortunate (but fortunate) thing about all of this is, I really don’t have
time to think too much about it. I need to pack. I’m contracted and committed
with zero chance of turning back. This kind of risk is the best kind of high. I
encourage everyone to seek adventure, no matter how small or great.
Here’s to uprooting. Here’s to challenging yourself. Here’s becoming an even better version of yourself. Here’s to the chance to embarrass yourself. Here’s to the chance of REALLY getting to know yourself. Here’s to adventure. Here’s to life.
See ya on the flip-side.