Feeling guilty
The guilt of choosing the path with the weird inconsistent funds is one that I have been battling for the last 3 years (when I decided to embrace again the reason I moved from Chicago in the first place). And it always comes up when I transition back into performing full time. This is what triggers it. Not a bill or my bank account looking scary. What triggers it for me is an email from my dear friends that includes a job description. Usually some amazing job that is seeking a Director or Coordinator of Education, and in the message is usually the sentence, "I thought of you when I saw this."
No, you weren't.
Now let me preface this for all my well meaning friends. This is not an attack or ungratefulness. This is an honest reaction that I am sure you have no idea that you trigger with those emails.
Each time these emails come through advertising a "real" job I begin to feel guilty for not applying. I feel guilty for not maximizing the 2 degrees and years of experience. I feel guilty for not going after the every 2 week paycheck. I am a single parent who will always need money for shelter, food, clothes, bills, student loans, and more bills. And just when I finally start feeling good about my accomplishments as an artist another damn email comes through and the guilt wraps its arms around my neck like a noose.
Then I look at my daughter and realize like a dear friend told me, "You are teaching your daughter the most important, empowering lesson of life--to go after your dreams, with dedication and passion."
And then I get an email about a casting notice or I book a commercial. Or I simply recall my financial situation when I did work a "real" job and got paid twice a month or every two weeks, and how I was living check to check. I remember being the Director of a drop out program and a classroom teacher, and spending a great deal of my check on supplies or other items that the students needed. Most of all I remember not having any time for my daughter. And then I climb down from the cliff from the guilt.
So here is a bit of advice. I say it with love and complete understanding, Stop sending me emails about "real" jobs! When this journey is over, I may welcome them once again, but for now I am living my dream the best way I know how and on my own terms.
No, you weren't.
Now let me preface this for all my well meaning friends. This is not an attack or ungratefulness. This is an honest reaction that I am sure you have no idea that you trigger with those emails.
Each time these emails come through advertising a "real" job I begin to feel guilty for not applying. I feel guilty for not maximizing the 2 degrees and years of experience. I feel guilty for not going after the every 2 week paycheck. I am a single parent who will always need money for shelter, food, clothes, bills, student loans, and more bills. And just when I finally start feeling good about my accomplishments as an artist another damn email comes through and the guilt wraps its arms around my neck like a noose.
Then I look at my daughter and realize like a dear friend told me, "You are teaching your daughter the most important, empowering lesson of life--to go after your dreams, with dedication and passion."
And then I get an email about a casting notice or I book a commercial. Or I simply recall my financial situation when I did work a "real" job and got paid twice a month or every two weeks, and how I was living check to check. I remember being the Director of a drop out program and a classroom teacher, and spending a great deal of my check on supplies or other items that the students needed. Most of all I remember not having any time for my daughter. And then I climb down from the cliff from the guilt.
So here is a bit of advice. I say it with love and complete understanding, Stop sending me emails about "real" jobs! When this journey is over, I may welcome them once again, but for now I am living my dream the best way I know how and on my own terms.
Awesome! The clarity of your vision is amazing. Keep going!
ReplyDeleteSo inspiring :)
ReplyDelete