Of Christmas

Hello. I know it’s been a very long time since my last post and I wish I could say that I spent it writing a novel. But that would only partially be true. Or even not true at all, depending on how you look at it. Either way, my absence has been caused by events and circumstances far less positive than I would wish them to be.

It’s Christmas though and I thought to myself: „Maybe it’s time I wrote something about what I’m going through. Maybe that would make me feel better”. So here it goes.

I feel a lot like Cindy Lou. I look around and see the Christmas lights and the Christmas tree and I try so hard to remember what it felt like when it was the most magical time of the year. A time when anything was possible. I can still recall the excitement I felt before Christmas Eve, when I knew that under that tree would be a wish come-true. And it wasn’t so long ago, that I looked expectantly at my pups, waiting for them to talk to me at midnight. Now, things don’t feel so bright.

First of all, my wishes have become far too complex for Santa to be able to keep up with the list. It’s not about a new Barbie doll, not even about that new PS4 I would love to have in my possession. It’s more about: „Santa, Jesus, whoever… Can you please make it so grandpa sits back in his spot on the couch… Can we sing Christmas Carols together again?” or „Santa, can you please erase the memories of T.? I can’t stand to think about him anymore. He’s not coming back. I know we are not going to get back together like we would in a Christmas flick, so can you make it so I don’t wait pointlessly for my phone to ring? I just want him to tell me he misses me. Actually I don’t, no wait, I do, no please don’t let him call me, just make him call me.”

So you see, Santa may have a very hard time making all those wishes come true. And I’m scared that, when in my depressed state I imagined myself jumping of a bridge so many times it feels more like a memory, and makes life so unreal it seems like I’m constantly dreaming or hallucinating, I may have killed that child in me that believed in Christmas magic. But there is no such thing as Christmas magic. And I’m saying that now, still scared that by stating it, I’m slaughtering something hidden deep inside of me. Does the fact that December 25th has become just another date in a calendar, mean that I’m a grown up now? Does the fact that the bell from Polar Express makes no sound to my ears, mean that I have officially entered into adulthood? I don’t think so… It just makes life a little less… Magical. I still don’t have all my stuff together, my priorities straight or no idea what I’m actually doing. Where I’m going.

So… Yeah. I wish Christmas came back in full force. I want the Christmas lights to turn back into promises of joy instead of commercial, overly expensive reminders of the fact that we need to go shopping and spend money and fuel the economy so the rich can get richer and the poor can… remain poor with some more useless stuff in their homes. I want to believe that magical things can happen, even if it’s not people coming back from the dead (because let’s be honest, that would be terrifying) or people who never appreciated you when they had the chance, coming back into our lives with promises of everlasting love (they probably wouldn’t keep past December).

So what is there left to wish for? Well… Love. Not necessarily the romantic kind, even though as a romantic I always put that on my Christmas wishlist. But love among mankind. I want to turn on the news and hear that people have donated outrageous amounts of money to those in need, instead of buying new iPhones they really don’t need. That will probably not happen either but… It’s a worthwhile wish, isn’t it?

I for myself will try to resurrect my Christmas joy and instead of mourning the passing of a loved one, appreciate the people I still have in my life. Instead of wishing for a lost love, wish for a new love, hopefully one that will stay and be true. Instead of contemplating suicide, try and look forward to the future, because I still don’t know what it might bring. And perhaps, it will be magical?

Merry Christmas!

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Make a wish…

Of A Long Way Home

So, I feel like it’s probably been almost a month since my last post. It is quite possible that it hasn’t actually been so long, but it sure feels like it, because so much has happened.

I went back home. Yes. Finally, the big change I was anticipating in most of my posts have come and now I feel like I’ve been ripped out of one reality and planted in another. Everything is different and it feels like so much has changed. That’s not surprising. It seems quite natural that if a person can change, so must the city they are from and everyone in it.

At the same time, it’s like nothing has changed. My grandparents still fall asleep on the couch, with the TV turned on. The news are different, but announced by the same bunch of faces and voices. The weather is flimsy. Only the trees seem even greener then the way I remembered them. And of course, the most different element of all, has to be me. My egotism wouldn’t allow anything else to overshadow that.

I’ve lost touch with most of my friends. Not that I’ve had many friends. I’m rather antisocial, but those I have stayed in touch with, and the new people I meet all seem to ask the same question I can’t bare to hear one more time. „So what do you do? What are you going to do next? Do you still want to be an actress? What are you going to do for money?” It’s like the voices in my head take a physical form in everyone I even try to have a conversation with. As if I didn’t need time to rest after leaving a place I’ve lived in for the past 3 years. No, you must touch the ground and start running. And since what I want to do is write. Here’s yet another first step. As if all those other steps were nothing but footprints in the sand.

And the road I’ve taken was physically, was almost as long as the one I’ve had to take metaphysically, or mentally (whichever one is more accurate). I wanted to write about the adventure that was my actual journey from LA to Poznan because that in itself was… Something. But I’ll save it for another time. Either way, it’s good to be back. Almost as if it’s taken this long for whatever it is and whatever you call it (soul) to catch up with the physical body that’s been here a week and a half already.

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Of Hidden Hipster Spots

I wouldn’t really call myself a hipster. Even though I like books, I have a blog and could marry coffee if it were legal. Still, as any hipster would say, I would absolutely despise being labeled like that. Sometimes though, facts speak for themselves. And honestly as much as I understand why in recent years the term has become so pejorative, I don’t really know what’s so wrong with liking any of the above things. I do think it’s bizarre to spend an excessive amount of money on stuff that „looks old” if you can just buy something in an actual second-hand store. And it’s not like you’re pretending to be homeless with your latest iPhone and MacBook (bit of an exception here, still sporting an iPhone 5 and my MacBook is like 6 years old… Does that make me even more hipster?) Then again if it’s your money, you should be able to spend it however you like without people judging you.

And sometimes you can just find the most amazing places if you just follow your „hipster instinct”. The bookshop and coffeeshop „Stories” in LA is one of those places. Although I sure shouldn’t claim any credit for finding this spot, as I was brought here by a friend. Still, tagging along with him, when he said he was going to the library, was a great example of following instincts. I suppose. I had no idea where he was taking me and I was pretty much convinced that we were just heading to a public library. I was in for a big surprise.

The place is located near Echo Park, which is one of the nicest spots in Downtown LA, and right off of a parking lot that is by far the cheapest lot I’ve seen here (25cents per 30 minutes) and we easily found a spot! Unfathomable!

Naturally, the place is packed with fellow hipsters. Almost everybody sporting a Mac computer, typing something, likely a blog post, but maybe a new script, or whatever it is that people write in Los Angeles. Could be anything. A cook book. A vegan cook book, IDK.

Either way, they have got some pretty neat coffee and ice tea, and all kinds of fuels to steam roll that inspiration. And being surrounded by books, sure exhumes some creative fumes. Almost wish there were more places like that, but then again it would probably just become another hated trend. All hipsters know that if something becomes trendy you should cut it off like a rotting limb. Funny how it works since being hipster is both trendy and despised at the same time. This world we live in is weird. It’s like people just don’t have better things to do, then judge others for how they dress, what they eat and what they enjoy doing in their free time. Like all them „Pokemon Go” haters. I know you secretly play when nobody can see you!

Anyway, right now, at least here’s a place where all us hipsters can turn up and not be judged by the rest of society. And just… You know, write a blog post.

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Must have inhaled heavily on them fumes, because I immediately started writing my first post in over a weak! Ugh, I hate that I take such long breaks, but I also try not to be too hard on myself with everything that’s going on…

Of Overthinking Advice

In your lifetime, you’ll get hundreds of pieces of advice. Most of them you’ll ignore, just for the sake of making your own mistakes, so you can learn from them. But some will stick and some will come back to you when you least expect them.

In my case, I’m still not sure if the words my grandpa would repeat each day like a mantra, count as advice. But the more I live and experience, the more I find myself pondering those words. They seemed so obvious, when I used to hear them all the time. He said „You have a heart and a brain. Use them.”

What could be more obvious then that? Of course I have a heart and a brain, I’m a human am I not? My teenage self would shake her head, kiss him on the cheek (or not) laugh and say „I know, I know” and be on her way. But as life goes on it seems like it’s harder to see it as something so clear and easy. Not because I don’t believe I have a heart or a brain, but more because I’m having a harder and harder time using them both. It’s almost like these two are constantly competing with each other, trying to decide which one is more right then the other. And perhaps there are matters in life that are only matters of the heart and things that only brain needs to concern itself with, but when it comes to making decisions it would be rather nice if they could agree on something. If something could be good and wise, rather than good, but stupid. I know I’m not making any special discovery when I talk about this, everybody seems to be pretty aware of the differences between the heart and the brain. Or, as  some pragmatic would call it, the left and the right brain.

So you see, I spend my time trying to figure out what he meant. I never asked him, because I thought I knew. I could ask him now, but the way he is, I’m not sure if he could give me an answer. And maybe the question would be stupid, because it’s so obvious and I’m trying to read too much into it?

Maybe it’s in the way he lived his own life? He was kind yet smart. And he was known for his kindness and intelligence. I was told so, at least. I believe it. I think we all need to keep believing in our childhood heroes, no matter how much we learn about life in the process of living, and how improbable some of those stories seem, as we grow up.

As I’m writing this, I’m not even sure if this is the kind of inspiration the daily post was looking for. I’m sure people received some amazing advice in their life they can follow, instead of trying to figure the meaning out. Then again, a known fact about myself is that I think too much, so perhaps it’s nothing that needs thought, but just something simple? Maybe it’s… Follow your heart and be kind, but always apply logic and remember to trust your knowledge of the world, to guide you through life’s challenges? That kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?

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In case it doesn’t, there’s always this advice my grandpa gave me. Pretty straight forward: „careful at the crosswalks!”

Of Small Steps

More like tiny steps.

It is a fairly common thing to hear. Take small steps instead of big leaps if you want to get to your destination. Trouble is, and I see it in most people my age, we want to get where we want to be… Fast. We don’t want to waste our time working, or rather we’re willing to work, as long as the work has immediate effects and brings us quickly towards our goal. Unfortunately for most people, myself included, life doesn’t work that way. It is almost unnatural to find immediate success in the thing you want to do or the passion you wish to pursue. It takes time and patience and sometimes it’s hard not to get frustrated. Especially since we do live in such a cynical world. I recently was having a conversation with a friend about my blog. I mentioned that I had just started writing it, and that I feel fairly happy about it. And I do. Not because it’s largely successful, not even because it’s good. I mean, I enjoy it, but quality of work is a very objective thing and I can’t be a judge of that. Sometimes I love it, sometimes not so much, through that I practice and learn. The point  is: I’m doing it. I’m doing it a little and I’m making myself do it regularly. Next step being writing every day. I’m not there yet. I will be.

His question to me was: „How many views do you have?” views being the only direct way to measure a blogs’ success. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, experiencing a flashback. It isn’t anything surprising, but people love to verify what you claim to be, in measuring your popularity. Granted, at the end of the day, one way of figuring out how well you’ve done, is when you see other people having use for it and appreciating it. But when I told people I came out to LA to be an actress, one of the first questions asked was „What have I seen you in?” and then the traditional „Well, you know, someday I’ll be telling stories about how I gave this actress a ride”. And you scoff and leave because you have to deal with the reality, that despite the efforts you put into it, you don’t feel any closer to accomplishing your goal. Which is to be able to say „I’ve been in this and that, my next project I’m not supposed to talk about” but it’s really a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio, directed maybe by Martin Scorsese and then you’ll finally be one of those people that the cab drivers brag about. But until that dream becomes a reality, you have to hustle and grind, and nowhere is it promised, that it will actually come true. And it’s the same thing with writers. Whatever it is you’re doing. There will always be ways by which society is going to try to measure your success, but the truth is: only you know what success means to you and if you’re getting closer to it, or not.

This as a whole makes me realize, whatever it is you’re trying to do, there are many moments in which you won’t feel like you’re making enough progress or as if you’re moving at all, but the truth is, with every action you take, you make a step forward to whatever destination it is you’re chasing. It’s when you let questions like that stop you, or your own fears and doubts resonate in your thoughts for a little too long, that’s when you first start putting your journey to a halt. Here’s what I firmly believe in. Doing is the best practice. If you can do, whatever it is that you love, every day, do your best to do it every day. Trust me, I’m still figuring this step out because there’s always all sorts of things that distract you, life just loves messing with us, and sometimes we make choices that pull us a little farther from the goal but make our experience as humans richer. It’s when you don’t do it because you’d rather just do something that you already know doesn’t benefit you in any way… That’s when you should pause and rethink your approach to passion, I believe. And frankly that’s how I found that acting wasn’t really that big of a passion of mine. Because after a couple of months I couldn’t get myself to do the most basic things actors need to do, which is submitting myself for projects, trying to find jobs and developing the craft. Here’s to another attempt at finding a passion. And hoping it will stick. If this fear resonates with anybody, please let me know. Either way, for some reason with writing the whole practice stage seems a lot more accessible. You can always do it, and if you can’t, learn about it. Setting realistic goals, doesn’t mean you’re not shooting for the stars, it means that instead of shooting blindly, you’re actually building a path to reach them.

Here’s another thing that people like to say to young artists. „Just do it, that is the best way to do it”. I even said so myself, a second ago. But what I think is being left out in the process is learning more about that thing that you are trying to do. Granted, practice is the best teacher, but if you don’t know where to begin, it is good to have guidance and some form of structure to know when you’re making a point and when you’re completely lost in your own actions. It’s a little like throwing punches while being blindfolded. You know you’re trying to hit something or do something, but you just can’t seem to figure out the direction it’s supposed to go.

Speaking from personal experience, I attempted writing a stream of consciousness story, that was myself, looking upon myself from the outside perspective and writing about what I was experiencing as well as who I was perceiving, as I looked into my written reflection. Interesting idea, I thought to myself, but I got to a point where I had to stop. The thoughts became unruly and the story I was trying to tell became something different. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes it’s the hand of God, or inspiration, or whatever you want to call it. Sometimes it’s just a mess. The more you know about the art or craft or passion you’re pursuing, the better you are at recognizing the difference and knowing how to structure what you’re taking on. Essentially, it’s like a person who wants to be a runner, participating in a marathon with hopes to win, without any training. Or an artist trying to paint a masterpiece equal to Mona Lisa, without ever studying the basic techniques.

To sum up. Know that even if the steps you’re taking are very tiny, with a combination of working and studying whatever you’re doing, you are moving forward. The road might not end up taking you where you expect, however. And don’t let your own doubts and critics in your mind tell you, you’re not good enough, just because you don’t have enough followers. All in due time.

And If you could’t tell, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Whenever I write those things, it  makes it easier for myself to process. I’m still going through all that struggle myself. I’m sharing my observations. I’m hoping it might be easier to relate to someone who’s going through the same thing. I find it hard to listen to mentors. I do listen, because I want to learn, but when they give you those mantras and pieces of wisdom, sometimes it feels like it’s coming from a different planet. Like they’re already where I wish to be and they’re trying to let me know how to get there, but all they know is the path that they have taken and I’m over here building my own path. Can’t really relate, even though I try to. So here’s hoping that there’s people out there, on that same journey, fighting their own battles and building their stairway to stardust.

 

Of Double-Standards

Inspired by a story shared by a friend… And sadly, countless other stories.

She slept with you, so therefore it’s ok for you to treat her like crap, you don’t need her anymore, and she’s probably a slut who sleeps with everyone. Or maybe you treated her nice but then got bored and so you tell her some bullshit lie and move on, assuming that she’ll be fine. Eventually she will be. Or not, but who cares? And you live like that, leaving a trail of scarred humans, who will carry those experiences into their new relationships, always afraid, that the same thing is going to happen… Again. In turn, they might hurt others, people who don’t deserve it, just because they can’t allow themselves to love again. Because how can they forgive themselves for making those same, bad judgement calls over and over? How many lessons do you need before you finally learn? And what’s the lesson? And who hurt you in a way that made you the way that you are?

That is what I find so frustrating about this narrative. There isn’t a villain on either side of the fence. We do it to each other constantly. Girl breaks a guys heart, so he breaks ten others, and they break mens’ hearts, and so on, and on, and on, the vicious cycle goes. And the other way around. Maybe it all starts with the parents.

Some men I spoke to, who consider themselves progressive and feminist told me that it’s the women’s fault. How ironic. Quote „Women just want the bad boys. They chase after assholes and they reject the nice guy because it’s too easy”. Guess who is the nice guy in that statement? The sentence itself is only partially true. It assumes that you can put all women in one category that wants the same exact thing and poor you, just can’t figure out what it is that they want? What do these women want? Well, what do humans want? Humans want to be loved and cared for, but also want to feel good about themselves, they like to be successful… You know, lotsa stuff that has not much to do with dating. And yet it has everything to do with dating. You don’t want to be living with someone whose ambitions or passions or interests don’t match yours. So as a „nice” guy, what do you bring to the table? How far have you really gone out of your way to show her that you care? Can you give her what she needs? Did you take the time to figure out what it is that she, specifically needs, to be able to give it to her? Maybe you didn’t, because you don’t really care and the „nice guy” is just a facade to cover up the fact, that really, you’re not much different from the „assholes”?

Now, what defines an asshole is another matter. One of my friends recently posted a story on Facebook about this guy she met for drinks at a bar. Straight away, he told her  all he was seeking was sex, she told him she wasn’t interested, and so he left. After 10 minutes apparently. Ok. Not the nicest thing to hear or do, but at least he was honest? I mean, of course women shouldn’t be treated as just sexual objects, so the fact that you even feel like it’s ok to say something like that is a problem, but you’re not trying to play anyone at least? From my experience, it’s far better to hear that sort of thing right away, because then you can just move on, as if nothing ever happened. Because it didn’t. You were made a proposition that you either took or refused and no harm was done. It is far more devious to trick somebody into thinking you care for them, and then after you got what you wanted tell them the truth. Well kind of truth, because  really: it’s not the truth. The truth was, you just wanted to fuck, now you have to make up a story that doesn’t make you seem like an asshole. Which you are. Definition: „I’m being honest, I’m not looking for a relationship and I don’t want you to feel like you’ve been used”. Can you say that again please? You went out with me a bunch of  times and slept with me and now you’re telling me you’re not looking for a relationship, but you didn’t want to use me? That is the definition of using someone!

And honestly sometimes when I heard that kind of stuff I really wondered… And maybe that’s just me, having too much faith in humanity, but could it be possible, they really didn’t realize what they were doing? Or maybe they just weren’t thinking about it because the penis was doing all the thinking? But that doesn’t make it ok, does it? Because I’m still locked up in my bathroom two weeks later, crying over something silly like: spilling my tea. Because the truth is I’m hurting all over. I’m disappointed, sad, angry. Yet, I’m not allowed to express that. I’m not allowed to be angry or hurt. I certainly can’t show it. Because I was never allowed to care in the first place. We’re only supposed to care when the guy cares. If he shows up and tells you he has feelings for you and you reject him, you’re a bitch who didn’t want the „nice” guy. That probably means you’re superficial, and only chase after attractive douches, because it is not possible, that you simply don’t reciprocate his feelings. So we’re forced to be strong and indestructible, after you told us we were just a piece of ass you messed around with, but if you tell us you want us, we’re supposed to fall at your feet and be vulnerable and gentle „I’ve found my hero, now I can be the distressed damsel I’ve always craved to be”. We’re women. We are made to love. I don’t care how many females broke your heart, I am yet to meet a woman who doesn’t ultimately seek love. That doesn’t always mean a committed relationship. But you won’t have a conversation, or try to understand. You get a hint of feeling and you run away because it scares you. You took the love when you wanted it, and it made you feel good as it always does, but giving something back? Hell no, got too much sperm to put into other uteruses.

 

To Be Continued…

In the next rant: dating, men, women, sex and double standards.

Of Trust & Passion

I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to talk about in this post. I’ve been reading about the kind of stuff you should write, in order to get an audience. Getting an audience, of course, is the ultimate goal for any artist. In the age of noise we live in, you really have to reach out and find something to talk about that others can relate to. That’s according to Jeff Goins, who runs a very successful blog about writing. At first I thought to myself: I don’t have enough experience to talk about anything. What could I possibly give to people that they might need? I have some knowledge, I guess, in areas completely unrelated to one-another. At the same time I am very young so the fear is , I won’t be taken seriously. I mean, I have a hard time taking myself seriously sometimes. So, as I was pondering on this today I came to a conclusion, that what I do know is: what it’s like to be a creative person in search of their true passion. Yes. Because I’m not just only a writer and I know, that there’s plenty of people out there, like me, who have a lot of creative interests. I started out as an actress and singer and  only recently discovered that at the end of the day, writing is what gives me a true sense of accomplishment and makes me feel happy. Even if sometimes, like today, I have to force myself to sit down and type. Point being, I can tell you a little bit about what my journey has been like, in hopes that you will find it helpful and maybe a little inspiring. Here’s a story of how I found that writing is my passion, and the bumpy road I had to take to find it.

First of all, I’ve always felt like I’m kind of good in many areas, but never felt like I was actually exceptional in something. There are some people, who are just  phenomenal in this one thing they do, and their struggle is completely different from the struggle of people like me. I liked doing creative things regardless of what they were. As a teen, I had a hard time making friends, so I spent a lot of time online, writing on RPG forums. For those of you, who don’t know what an RPG forum is: it’s an online forum which is transformed and used as a Role Playing Game platform. The conditions of the universe you play in are described, as well as various locations (much like maps in video games). You create your own character and then proceed to play by describing what this character is doing, interacting with other players and their characters. I absolutely loved doing that, I spent hours writing posts and making up stories for the characters I created. After a while I became involved as a builder of such forums and eventually a Game Master, which is the person that creates adventures and leads other players through them. Because it was just a hobby and something I did for fun, I never took it seriously. And none of my family members did either. I recall countless discussions I had with my parents about the amount of time I spend in front of the computer, writing/playing. Never was it even considered a way of developing a skill or a passion. It was considered, if not a waste of time, a dangerously addictive activity. It’s hard to blame them. It was very unclear to them what it was exactly that I was doing, and they were terrified that at some point I will meet a pedophile who will lure me out and kidnap me, or molest me… Something like that. Legitimate fears I actually shared, to some extent. You can never be too careful online, especially if you’re a kid.  Fortunately, the only people I ever met were really cool, creative types, who much like me, had a hard time finding common ground with their piers at school. Most of those friendships didn’t last, but I also met one of my best friends of all time through that writing playtime. Life goes on, and time comes to graduate from high-school and pick a degree to pursue. School was never my thing but, I wanted to do something ambitious, yet as easily as humanly possible. I decided to take on Japanese studies. I picked that because it was kind of impressive to get in, I loved Japanese culture (anime and manga to be more specific) and all that was required of me, was that I took advanced English, Polish and Spanish in my matriculation exams. Since I was already fluent in English and Spanish, I only really had to worry about passing my Polish exam well. It went… Ok. At the end of the day I got into Japanese Studies and that was all that mattered. After the first year, I failed almost all my final tests, which threw me into plunges of depression. First of all, I never actually failed in anything. I was used to just kind of trying and kind of succeeding. In addition to that, the failure made me realize, that I didn’t really want to be a Japanese translator for the rest of my life. I loved the Japanese culture but not enough to dedicate myself to it completely. That was the first time I actually took the time to ask myself: what is it that I want to do? And the answer wouldn’t come, making my depression even worse. I had to do something, I just didn’t know what. I wanted to take a year off, figure things out for myself and find solutions, but my parents didn’t want to hear about it. „There’s no time to waste in life. You have to hit the ground running and make something of yourself. Whatever that something is, just something, doesn’t matter that you don’t know what you want, you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out after all is said and done. But of course, we also want you to be happy.” Then, my mom suggested I went to an acting school. In the meantime I also considered going to a music school for voice but that idea was short-lived. I don’t even remember why, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with my grandmother being a musician and telling me how difficult music school is, and that I would never make it because it requires too much work. I don’t know if you’re noticing a pattern at this point, but can you see how family can try to be supportive and yet, at the same time, make you feel pressured into making choices you’re not ready to make? And when you’re stumbling in any sort of direction, that isn’t the safest way to go, they tell you you’re not good enough? They believe in you, but they don’t. Your family ever made you feel that way? Not that I didn’t give them reasons to act in this way. And of course I always knew that they really loved me, so all their reservations came from the fact that they wanted me to be successful, they just had little faith in my ability to do what needs to be done to get there. Moving on to: acting. Getting warmer. All my life, my mom has been telling me she saw an actress in me from the moment I was born. A conviction which only grew stronger as I started growing up: „I just knew it. You had the personality for it. I always thought you were gifted in that regard, you should do it!”I should probably mention at this point, that my mom went to an acting school herself. She did well at first, but gave up on her career later in life. After having two kids it’s kind of difficult to pursue this particular profession. She got an MBA and began to climb corporate ladders of various companies. Smart woman. Wonder how she would have survived the acting world. In my experience, intelligence is not your friend in this industry. Especially as a woman and a beginner. And so, with my mother’s blessing, I went off to an acting school. I loved acting. The more I learned about it, the more I loved it. But I hated everything else about the school. The teachers would constantly tell us we were worthless and didn’t have talent. There was one teacher in particular who regularly bullied me, calling me fat and accusing me of lack of empathy, both of which were supposed to make it impossible for me to ever have a career in this profession. Also, both untrue. But tell a young girl she’s fat and she will most definitely believe it. I decided to continue my education in the States. Where else? LA seemed like the best destination. Little did I know that after studying there, I would find that I love theater much more then TV and film and that I should have gone to New York. But the decision had already been made. Miraculously, we managed to get money to pay for it. The fact that I went through this school program and graduated, can only be credited to a tide of good fortune and extreme effort on behalf of my parents. See? They really do want me to be happy. Especially my dad, who thought that acting was a terrible idea from the beginning, yet still payed for my school. Now, here’s where things get ridiculously complicated. After my first year of college, I experienced and epiphany. Just a quick moment in time, where everything came together and a realization hit me: I should be a writer. That’s what I should be doing, I should write. You’d think that it’s great, right? I finally had the answer to the question I’ve been asking for the past 3 years, and it made perfect sense! It was the one thing that felt like it came from me and not someone else’s idea of me. However,  I felt like I had gone too far in my pursuit of acting to just change my mind like that. I mean, I had already asked my parents to suffer incredibly, so I could go to this school. They both gave it their all. How am I to tell them, that I changed my mind and that I actually wanted to do something else? And how could I trust myself? How could I be certain? So naturally, being the person that I am, I didn’t mention my doubts to anybody, trying to feel the waters. Seeing where the wind will blow. Having to struggle with that knowledge all throughout second year made me miserable and depressed. I didn’t find as much joy in acting as I used to, and I started to feel as if I wasn’t even good at it to begin with. Each time I was complimented on a performance I felt like I was being lied to. It may have all been in my head, but that experience was definitely not pleasant. I tried to push away my desire to write, though stories and ideas would come to me and I would begin to write them. But never with real commitment because I had resolved to commit to acting. That was a choice that I made and I had to stick with it. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to change my mind. I had to do this. But it soon became clear that you can’t force yourself to be something you’re not, even if you really want to. You can’t satisfy all the expectations your family has of you, because that way, you will never be happy. After over 2 years of inner battling between what I really wanted and what I felt was „right”, I gave in. I started by writing a show for Hollywood Fringe festival. And once I had done that, any doubt I had before was meaningless. I just wanted to do this, always. Write stories. Typing and seeing letters appear on a blank sheet in front of me fills me with happiness. It’s almost therapeutic.And who is to say that I can’t write plays and scripts and write the kind of roles I want to play? I was never meant to play a Bond girl. I’m too fat, as my wise teacher said.

This path was filled with frustration, desperation and moments of joy, and let me tell you right now, I don’t regret a second of it. I’m saying this, because I know that you might be in that point of your journey where you feel like you’re wasting your time. You’re not. Every step brings you closer and provides you with something that you will need further along the way. Life is just like video games. And here’s a couple of guide-lines I made up, but they’re also pretty much common knowledge:

  1. Give yourself time – there’s no rush. Everyone is on their own journey, follow where it takes you and you will find yourself, where you need to be, trust this.
  2. Listen to yourself – for me, that was one of the hardest things to do. Everyone was telling me what they thought I should be doing with my life and in all that noise, my own voice was drowned and almost impossible to hear. But it always spoke and when I listened, I could hear it.
  3. Trust – passion isn’t something you can miss out on. Not if you really want it. You will find it because it’s already in you. Whatever it is. It’s there and it will find you.
  4. Explore – don’t be afraid to try different things. Sometimes you need to try a lot of different flavors before you find the one that suits you best.
  5. Don’t second-guess yourself: You will. That’s just the way it goes for most people. But you have to remember that you are enough. If you want to do something, just go for it and learn about it later. Learn by doing it. Let me tell you, I have allowed myself to stop my own growth too many times by telling myself: I don’t have enough experience, I don’t know anything about this… Who cares? The worst thing that can happen is you’ll make a mistake and learn from it. As Shia LaBeouf said… JUST DO IT! And don’t listen to that voice in your head that tells you that „only special people can do that kind of stuff and I’m not special”. You decide what you are. So shut that voice up and do what you love.