A Difficult Year

There should be a hand-book, complete with how-to dvd's and survival techniques, for a creative artist's first year out of school. There should also be support groups, massage therapists, and retreats, all free and unlimited, available throughout that first year.

Here is my story of my first year out of school, I share it in hopes that it may help others, and attract positive changes for me as well.

I'd been in school since the age of two, never taking a single year off, going straight from high-school to college, then from college to grad school. The idea was that I'd have acquired a Master's Degree by the age of 24 so that I could go off and be a movie-star and best-selling author by, say, age 29.

And so, a year ago, there I was, 23 years old, holding my M.F.A., excited as hell about the life that lay ahead of me. I was trained to the core and ready to go out and work. I could finally audition for everything, without worrying about it conflicting with my school schedule. I could be in plays and start working my way into the world of television and film. I could write. I could read books that were not school-related. I could spend two months in Italy if I wanted to. I could maybe get a touring show and travel around the United States doing theatre. I could do anything! The world was full of possibilities, and I was young enough and educated enough to take advantage of all of them.

I thought my first year out of school would be really empowering, glamorous, and freeing.

But, in reality, this past year has been really difficult, depressing, unexciting, and depriving. I did audition for everything, and it turned out to be a horrible experience almost every time- I haven't been to a single pleasant audition all year! I did one play, which was free and performed outdoors (not such a great idea in New York's humid summers). I did four student films, none of which I was particularly fulfilled by, and was an extra in Oliver Stone's next film (if you think that sounds glamorous, think again. Extras are like bus-boys: necessary but unappreciated, underpaid and unhappy). I tried to be in a showcase, and it got canceled. I tried to put together a film group with some friends, and it fell apart. I tried to put up a play on my own, but then I couldn't get the rights. I submitted myself to 100 agencies, and didn't get a single call. Since I wanted to spend the year focusing on my career, I didn't take on a regular job, which means I had no salary, which made things like traveling to Europe impossible.

Without structure of any kind, my days blended into each other, and I started sleeping until noon, eating irregularly, and spending a lot of time alone in my apartment. My enthusiasm for acting started to seep out of me, and soon I found myself in a heavy cloud of sadness and defeat. The shock of going from acting, learning, and being around actors every day to the exact opposite started to settle in- and it was ugly.

By the way, that whole "you'll stay in touch with who really matters after school" thing is a lie. It's very easy to lose touch with everyone, even the people you care for, when you're not seeing them every day, and when everyone is depressed and struggling. After the first few months went by, I was only seeing my best friends maybe once every two or three weeks.

I went home to Brazil around christmas time, since I hadn't been home in a year and had to get out of New York, away from my life, before I did anything stupid or got any fatter. I was actually so depressed in New York I thought I might move back to Brazil permanently, but after two months there I realized my life was in New York and I had to get back to it. I did get better while I was away though, I got to rest, I took an acting workshop that brought me back to life, I lost some weight, ate healthy food, traveled with my mom, and, in an effort to awaken a long-sleeping closeted writer, started this blog. I returned to New York with a lot of new, restored energy. I was ready to start auditioning again and keep on trying to be an actress.

But the story repeated itself.

And now, over the past month especially, I have felt the wave of depression wear over me. It's been stronger this time, strong enough to make me really consider giving up on acting, as some previous blog posts may have given away.

I'm so scared of that thought though, that I have been trying everything I can think of to overcome it. I started the workbook "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron, which is a great resource for struggling artists. I took a film-making for actors workshop and made my own little film, which really reconnected me to my deep, undying, beautiful love for acting. I started writing a play I'd been thinking about, and asked a friend to help me so that I would really do it, not just think about it. And I write here as often as inspiration hits me. I keep submitting myself for things, auditioning, hearing no's, or not hearing anything at all, and auditioning some more. I've also started looking for a paying job that might have something to do with writing. The truth is, I don't want to give up on acting, I'm just really tired of this business and scared of how it's deadening my soul- part of me thinks that maybe if I leave it now, at least I'll still preserve the part of me that still loves acting. The last thing I want is to become jaded, angry, and bitter about acting.

It's been a really hard year, and I think that anyone about to embark on their first year out of school should know just how hard it is. Maybe if I had known then I would've prepared myself a little. Painted a wall in my apartment bright pink to fight depression away. Made a schedule for myself that gave me some structure, every day, and involved physical exercise and some joy in it. Created realistic goals that I could actually achieve this year- maybe just get a call-back, instead of getting the part, or put up a reading of a play, instead of the whole play. Plan a day-trip to the beach instead of a long month-long trip to Europe.

I don't know if the year to come will be any easier, but I am hoping it will be different. Maybe I'll be a little more prepared now for the hard times. I did buy some bright colored shirts to break my all-black wardrobe, got a plant, and planned to do yoga regularly. And I've written a prayer, which I'll share here since this is one place where I connect with the world through creativity, and maybe someone else can use this prayer as well.

Dear Universe,

I ask for guidance and help with my career as an actress and writer.

May opportunities come my way, and may they feed my creative soul as well as further my career.

May I see the light and beauty in the harder times, and may I find truth in the moments of doubt.

I pray for strength, perseverance, opportunity, and joy.

I am grateful for my gifts, and I pray that I may express them to their full potential.

With love,

Larissa Dzegar

Dreams

I ran into someone from college today, a fellow actress, at an audition, and was stunned into sadness. This young woman, who had once been full of life and excitement about her prospective acting career, sat before me today looking like a zombie- jaded, angry, and unhappy. It's been four years since we graduated from college, she reminded me, and clearly she wasn't where she'd thought she would be by now. I see so many actors like her, who once had dreams and passions, but who have been beaten down by the industry, who are borderline crazy because of how limited they feel. She was still physically alive, of course. Her heart is still beating and all. But her dreams, what made her a beautiful human being, were almost gone. She was sitting at that audition for an unpaid part in a short film because after a while, after a lifetime of this, you just don't know what else to do.

As I looked at her picking the decoration off her phone as she waited her turn, I started thinking, since this business kills them, can we have a graveyard for our dreams? Every time we are treated like cattle, can we have an address, a physical place, where we can mourn them? Along with objectifying us and then coldly rejecting us, can we get the certainty, in the form of a legal document, that our dreams are dead now?

I have always known acting is a lonely battle against a soul-devouring business that seeks to profit from my dreams. I just always thought my passion was stronger than anything and anyone, and my need to do this would outweigh the disappointments. And it can be that way, but it requires a lot of work. Work that doesn't feel like work and that has no value to the outside world- such as decompressing after an audition by going for a walk, or writing about it, or crying about it, or listening to lots of good songs on your ipod, or eating some sweet potato fries, or all of the above, until you can get it all out of your system. It's a full-time job, staying strong enough to handle this business. I have to make time, every day, to nurture my creativity in some way. I have to force myself to have positive thoughts about myself as an actress. I have to protect myself from the often desperate energy at audition waiting rooms, and then from the often dismissive energy at the auditions themselves. I have to eat right and exercise, keep my body and mind working together so that they know I want them to be healthy for me. I have to keep my heart open and willing. I have to love deeply and daily. I have to create my own projects since the ones I audition for are rarely compatible with my interests as an artist. I have to look like the best version of myself, every day. And on top of all that, I have to find a way to support myself financially and emotionally while not being able to devote myself to a full-time day job and usually not being able to afford myself the time to fully prepare for or fully recover from the day-to-day life in this business.

It's a lot of what I call "invisible work". It's the work I have to do in order to still be a sensitive vessel for creativity and inspiration, and it's what I have to do to stay sane and not end up like the young woman I ran into today.

There are days when I wake up and I'm all about it, I'm ready to keep going, I'm in love with my life, I can't wait to start another day of submitting-auditioning-creating-preparing-nurturing-hoping-wanting-waiting-wishing-loving-needing. Then there are days when I don't want to get out of bed. When I consider going on craigslist and trying to find a regular 9-5 job that numbs my mind. That way, at least I'd be the one burying my dreams, rather than the industry.

And, to be honest, I do give in to the latter days every once in a while. I stay in bed till noon and when I do get up, it's just to eat something, mope, and then go on craigslist and look for a job as a secretary.

Luckily though, my heart will usually end up screaming, Don't give up yet, you can't. Don't go be someone's secretary. You have a masters degree. You're capable of doing what you dream of. Let's go!

It's a battle, really. It takes courage to stay in it, and it takes courage to get out of it. It's not easy to bury a dream, and it's not easy to keep it alive either.

I read something the other day that inspired me, and I've been trying to remember it on days like today. It went something like, "If you have a gift, it means you were chosen, and you are best living by expressing your gift."

I liked it. It made me feel like I actually have an obligation to keep trying and working, living and dreaming, because I didn't choose this, it chose me. Sometimes it's hard to be grateful about that, but I have to remember that that's what dreams are: precious gifts for me to unwrap daily, with love and care.

So then I start thinking, Never mind. I don't want a graveyard for my dreams. I'll hold on to them a little longer. Thank you, Universe.

And my dreams smile, relieved that they get to live a little longer.

Are you still dreaming?

Rejection

Since I blogged about the traumatizing inhumane qualities of auditioning in my last post, I thought I'd blog about the outcome of that very audition.

I received a letter today, and my dad knew I was expecting it, so he called me when he saw that it had arrived. I was at a film shoot in brooklyn, and luckily got to go home shortly after he called me so I could open the letter without too many hours of anticipation.

In the 45-minute train-ride home I swear I aged some fifteen years. I comforted myself by noticing the details around me. One man looking over another man's shoulder to read his paper. A girl with a bright blue dress that made her skin seem so fair. A man with a black suit and a red tie, looking rather tired from his day yet refusing to take a seat. A woman with a long black skirt and cotton shoes that seemed too big for her feet. The details went by me, one by one, and finally, I was home.

My parents had gone out, so I was home alone. I held the letter in my hand for a while. I sat on the edge of my couch, near my cactus. The room looked pretty, with the sunlight coming in softly and all. I started feeling like I was about to experience something good, something wonderful, something magical.

I thought I had gotten it. I really did. I felt it in my gut. And my gut always feels so right.

But this time it was wrong.

The cold short distant letter started with, thank you but...

Do you know how exquisitely horrible it is to open a letter that rejects you from something you worked so hard for, for something that in some way defines your sense of worth?

It felt like getting punched so hard in the stomach that the blow actually broke my spine and the hand that threw the punch never got removed. I still feel that heavy hand in my insides, crushing my organs, holding on to my breath, smothering my dreams. If the experience of wanting something and having to go through a sort of animal parade to try and get it is bad- I'm referring to auditioning here- then the experience of not getting it after going though that is beyond any realistic description of awful.

I went for a walk. I needed to be alone but surrounded by people. I walked for a little while, then stopped at Barnes & Noble's when it started raining. I started texting and calling my friends. It was a cryfest. I spilled coffee all over my dress at one point, and found myself crying in the bathroom of Barnes & Noble's while throwing water on myself and getting soaked.

I felt pathetic, stupid, and worthless.

When I got home my parents were waiting for me. I had told them. I fell on my mother's lap and cried.

And then, slowly, I started breathing again. I ate something. I started putting things in perspective. Started telling myself the things we have to tell ourselves in order to survive these things, Everything happens for a reason. I'm better off. I didn't want it that bad. This doesn't mean as much as I'm making it mean. I'm not a worthless piece of shit. I can still act. It's ok. I'm gonna be ok.

These affirmations went on all day, amidst sobs and cries. They may have to go on for a few days, weeks, months. I will detach myself from the experience with time, look at it from a distance. And it won't seem so bad, perhaps.

But the experience of this rejection will always live within me, little as it may get. The words on that letter are inside me now, and though they may come to mean different things, I'll always remember what they meant and did to me today.

They took a little piece of me with them, and I can't get it back anymore. It may be one of the saddest things I've ever known.