I struggle with every word and letter. Writing (my most natural and genuine means of self-expression) has become so difficult a task that I type and retype, then stare fearfully at the white, almost blinding, space before me. I’ve had writer’s block before but this isn’t a case of such.
To me, it isn’t so much the lack of topic or event or emotion. Not a matter of the lackadaisical but a matter of fear. Fear of myself and the thoughts hounding me. Fear of my feelings and the dangers they pose. I close up in fear of realizing things and acknowledging feelings I’d rather deny.Thus, I’ve regressed into hermit-ness and self-detachment once again. With every ounce of emotion, I find myself piling on the layers and denying myself the simplicity of being honest with myself. The complexity of it all frustrates me. Why can’t I just let it out without second guessing or holding back or constantly calibrating because of what I think I’m supposed to or expected to think, feel and say? There’s this indescribable discomfort within me, like a heavy chunk, cross or burden. I’m exhausted, frustrated and scared. Why? Because I’m stuck. I’m dumbfounded. My feet are sinking.
I’m still waiting in the wings.
I wish I could write about my dreams and my musings in life. I wish I could talk about the raindrops and roses, whiskers and kittens, and all that jazz. I wish I didn’t feel so damn frustrated with myself and my inability to make concrete plans and solidly grounded decisions about my future. I feel as if I’m constantly waiting, waiting for the next drop of opportunity to present itself, waiting for a sign or anything remotely close to that.
I’m waiting in the wings. In theater and in life.
A friend asked me earlier what it was that I really wanted to do… was it going to be theater for good? A question…all too often posed with a tinge of curiosity, doubt and concern. While I always try to answer it with a semblance of security and confidence, I crumble within because each time the question is asked, a cloud of doubt and insecurity hovers over me. Am I wasting my time? Am I being stupid for thinking I can make a serious career out of this? Am I delusional to think I’ll have my turn, my chance, my big break? Am I insane to hope for the day when I won’t be waiting in the wings anymore? Am I just in this because I’m challenged or because I genuinely believe this is what I’m meant to do and meant for? Why do I do what I do? Why have I spent years, sacrificed time and moments and given up a sense of normalcy for the love of theater?
Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do and I’d like to think it’s pure passion that fuels me. However, I’m also human. I have moments when I think to myself…am I making a huge mistake? Am I meant to be elsewhere? Am I neglecting other opportunities and chances because I’ve got my sights set on “that one”. Am I being foolish, giving my all to something that might not even be my calling? Dreams are one thing, plausible ones are another, and fulfilled ones are most rare.
I find myself stuck against the wall, afraid to take that leap of faith, hindered by inhibitions and incessant insecurities that leave me empty-handed. I feel I have so much more to offer, to pour out, to show, and to share. But I seem to falter and fall flat on my face. All because I lack that one important ingredient. Confidence. Easier said than done. I was born with the biggest of feet and yet the smallest of egos. Someone arrange a barter please?
Maybe I’m still waiting in the wings because I haven’t let go. Even in the larger stage of life, I feel myself still waiting for life to begin, waiting and waiting..and waiting for things to happen, desperately hoping for my golden age. I’m praying for the day when an epiphany of sort occurs, when I’ll just look back on these moments of frustration, laugh and see the wisdom of it all. I’m praying that if I’m meant for this, I’m given the patience to keep waiting. Let me take flight when my wings are perfectly feathered. Let me step out of the wings when everything fits and the moment seems ripe.