Leaving on a jet plane...

Don't know when I'll be back again.

I've said my goodbyes, I've eaten and drunk myself into a coma, nearly. I've done the shitty prep. The tax return, the ironing, the washing, the bank transfers... Hair torn out, sleepless nights and I'm done. I'm nearly ready. 

I've dreamt of this sort of trip for a really long time. Since I was eleven and I played Blousy in the school play, I've wanted to go to Hollywood. And then I'm at the airport... And I can't feel anything. Well, none of the feelings I thought I might. I take a deep breath. Remember this moment. Be in this moment. Pinch myself, fart, do something to recall this exact moment where I am sitting on a plane, about to fly across the ocean, to another country, for three months. 

We can tweet tweets and state status's. Post pics on instagram of how amazing life is right now. Because it is. It's freaking amazing. But... Honestly. This moment suddenly feels bigger than me. Suddenly the intensity of disappearing for three months, spending a lot of money following a dream that is so fragile and unsteady, being away from friends and family for longer than I've ever been away from them ever... Suddenly I think I may have not just farted, but sharted instead.  

The moment feels bigger than me, because it is far beyond anything I can comprehend, but also, so right and obvious that it would be part of my journey, that essentially, I feel like I am dreaming. People keep saying things like 'good luck superstar' and 'see you when you've made it' and part of me cannot process the thoughts. I know people are rooting for me. Excited for me. But I feel pressure. Pressure to come back with a star on the Hollywood walk of fame, pressure to be in Titanic 2, pressure to be on cribs, or become bessies with Kimye... Yes I said Kimye. I have a slight panic... and then, I have a reality check. This is just about having an adventure and experiencing a life I wanted to experience since I was eleven in Bugsy Malone. It's just a little part of my journey. A snap chat of an existence based around a dream I had of heading to the land of opportunity. It is just a stepping stone onto whatever else is next in my life. 

I could meet Brad Pitt for christ sake and become his third wife, hey... Brandgelina might even adopt me.

As I came to the end of my adventures in LA the last time, I reflected on the five weeks that had been, and shit myself that that five weeks had been and gone in a flash. We plan and prep and look forward to such events and more often than not concentrate on the lead up far more than the actual event itself. Always forward thinking, always planning for the future. Even whilst I have been here the last couple of days I have caught myself a few times, wondering what it is going to be like when I arrive home. I've had to stop myself from the panic that I know may ensue. The sheer overwhelmness of coming back to the real world like a deer in head lights and keeling over at the mere mention of grey skies, rain and the London Underground... No no no I cant do it...

I'll be honest, part of me is freaking scared. I'm scared/anxious/worried of a million things that I don't want to mention. I'm worried of coming back and everything being the same. Worried that I will always look at the price tag on clothes, that I will return to a day job I don't like, that I won't be content, that I won't book regular work, that I'm following the wrong dream, that I will somehow disappoint people if I don't come back with a blockbuster movie deal and stories of how Elton John massaged my feet whilst Emma stone bought us shots and I am worried that 'I' will come back disappointed that Elton didn't massage my feet or I didn't do shots with Emma Stone.

A teacher said to me once that worry was the egos way of protecting itself from the pain they believed was coming their way. 'If I worry about the plane crashing, or the boyfriend cheating, or the lack of job I have or the five things off my list that I didn't do' then when all of those things happen, I will not feel as bad about them. I will have predicted, prepared for said shit to hit the fan and there for when covered in said shit, It will not phase me, perhaps I wont even smell it. It turns out... I was wrong! Just because we predicted being covered in feces, will not make being covered in poo any less traumatic. Instead you will have spent hours, days, weeks, months, in a negative, shitty (mind the pun) state of mind, to inevitably, what is SHIT anyway and will not BE any less SHIT because of said prediction. My teachers shortened version was... 'Worrying that the plane will go down, will NOT make it any less painful when it does'

As an actor, you get asked such questions as, 'When's your big break then?' Or 'You want to be in Easterners right?'or 'When are you gong to give up?' And I would quite like to ask... 'When are you going to give up your day job?' There is no definitive answer. There is no, (If I don't come back with a job in Curly Sue 2 or Fast and Furious 12 then I quit) This just is it... and no worrying otherwise will help.

These are the days... THE days, the ones we look back on and go 'Sheeet, I did that, I went there, I met them...' Those days are now . Brene Brown (my own personal Guru) says that the difference between people who resist joy (grumpy fearful people) and the people who accept joy less grumpy fearless people), is that the people who accept joy practise gratitude. Horrendously, practising gratitude was not built in me innately. It wasn't that I was ungrateful, it is just that my pattern was to focus my energy on the crap that went wrong that week, or the things I didn't get done and it was less easy to focus on the small little things that happened that made my day/week wonderful. 

So now I have the 'ten things I am grateful for' list and it helps me remember to enjoy every second because... these are the days!

With post show blues...

So you audition. Sometimes a lot, sometimes not. You go to class, workshops, you have head shots done. They don't look like you, you have more done, you cry at the price. You get a friend to do them and pray that there is just one in there that your agent likes, you pray that there is one in there that you like. You go to your day job, you leave and go to rehearsals for that play you said you'd do for free and then you rush from there to a night shoot of a short film that your mates, neighbours, dog sitters boyfriend, wrote. You spend five hours on a night shoot, outside, in the middle of winter. You take a pic for intsa and hash tag it #livingthedream or #dreamsdocometrue and you secretly want to cry because your so hungry and all they have on set are biscuits. You really don't want biscuits because you have been eating clean and you are now wise enough to know if you have one biscuit you will have ten. You finally get in, after a long night bus journey home and you get three hours sleep in before you have your day job again. Short shift today. Afterwards you head to that cute little coffee shop to go and write. You have five hours. You sit for three trying to think where to start, you decide to make a list of all the things you need to do. Pay for class, chose head shot, buy shower gel, tax return... Oh shit... Find all your old receipts. You get a call, private number... you pray it's your agent, but pretend that you so don't think it's your agent. You answer easy breezy... Its your agent. 'Yes' you think. 'maybe it's an audition.
And it is. And with a lovely warm sense of purpose and joy you put down phone and await the e mail with the details.

It's a play. Sort of, a musical. You read the part and you love it. You actually feel you can do this. You understand the part. You love how it reads. It feels natural and it makes you smile. Sometimes you just get those auditions that just feel right. Your not sure why, but it feels like it makes sense. Some you get and they are so far out of reach of what you think you can do with the character or they don't click with you and you feel you may have to blag the audition. But when that  one comes in that just feels good, you feel fooking great. 

You go in. You may have had an espresso because you fell asleep on the tube on the way. You may go into the audition a little off kilter. Perhaps a bit more unsteady, than you may have been without said espresso. You read, you faff, you plough on, you leave. And suddenly, that audition you thought you could smash, the one you thought you could be just right for, you may have effed it up. You call your agent, you explain. You loose sleep because, despite it only being a three night run, something, deep inside your gut, tells you this is going to be a good project. And secretly (because its way cooler to pretend you don't) you want it. You want the job, your mad you might not get the job and you resign yourself to a moment (and only a moment) of self pity. 

The phone rings. Its private number. You pick up knowing it's going to be PPI calling about that insurance fraud payment that you never took out because you have never had a loan and you... 

'You got the job' Errrrrm... what? 'You got the job' And your belly actually flips because your gut, your heart, tells you, this is going to be an awesome thing to be apart of. 

Day one of rehearsals comes after your thirtieth birthday celebrations and life feels freaking awesome. You rehearse, you chat, you bond, you banter and you make friends with people you think you could be friends with for life. You drink, you bond, you laugh, you try to dance to the choreography, you can't, you tear up and you rehearse and learn lines and drink and bond some more. You watch in ore at the talent your working with, you don't feel threatened because you admire everyone's ability to bring it all together and perform an assemble piece so strong you might not get over the fact that its over. 

And then... suddenly... it's over. You do the three nights, that went so very quickly you try to recount exactly how they are over already, and you sit on a bus the day after the last show and you cry. Your not sure exactly why, but you sob. Like you have just been dumped by the boy in the year above who has a six pack and all the girls fancy. Like he's just taunted you and said he will go out with you and then laughed in your face and said it was a joke. You feel lost, alone and so gutted that its over that you wonder how on earth your going to get through the next week before you head to LA. 

Post show blues are not the one. And despite knowing that its a come down, you still want to eat nothing but ice cream and not wear anything but jogging bottoms. Even though you know it will pass, you still feel so gutted that it's over, you might hibernate for weeks on end. Acting lark is funny. You wait for a long time, for jobs, it seems. You make sacrifices and work hard so you can feel a pay off down the line. Then, sometimes, when you're least expecting, you end up in something so special that it gets you excited about acting again and you know is meant to be a part of your journey, that you can't help but eat cake, shed tears and already look forward to getting to do the show again... and you remember exactly why you chose to this acting lark in the first place...

When she finally became a grown up...

It happened, the week before Christmas came and I turned a year older. I have now been around for three whole decades. I was super excited to become a sophisticated, classy woman. Because that's what happens when you turn thirty. Over night you become the woman you have always dreamed about becoming. The one on the Pinterest boards. That woman. I was now her. Groomed, hair did, nails done, healthy eating under way, home in order, a wardrobe to die for... Pah!

To help me into such a change, the boyf spoilt me with a new camera... which means, real life blog pics! I have never been so exited, So I couldn't help but document my birthday celebrations. They included a trip to the Sanderson 'Mad Hatters Tea party', The Ace hotel and Sketch, just off Regents Street. I ate, ate and ate some more, because as a thirty year old woman, you are so self assured with your body image, you just don't care how many calories you eat :)