TELL ME ABOUT ACTING THIS WEEK
I’m acting in a movie this week. I had a costume fitting, signed paperwork, and yesterday, I even gave David Krumholtz a blowjob. There was a time when this was the kind of shit I lived for. Not the blowjob part. Nobody actually likes those. But the rest of it—the waking up early, the casual small talk in the make-up trailer, the seven to ten days of feeling a sense of purpose in an otherwise uneventful month. Nowadays, it’s more novelty.
Most of the time, I try to avoid acting. Not because I don’t enjoy the actual craft, but because every other aspect of the profession fucking sucks.
I spent twenty years of my life basing my entire self-worth on whether or not I had a job. When I was working, I felt I had value, and when I wasn’t working, I felt like the biggest piece of shit loser on the planet.
I kept going, mostly because I couldn’t tolerate the idea of failure. I couldn’t sit in the discomfort of not being picked, losing, or not being good enough. Most of those feelings trace back to childhood trauma that we can unpack at a different time. But why I placed so much value on playing a hooker on a Law & Order SVU, I’ll never know. The point is, I wouldn’t have broken this cycle of self-abuse were it not for writing.
Writing saved my life and my career trajectory. It ironically also changed my acting. I no longer needed to chase the validation I got from seeing my name on a call sheet. I didn’t need somebody else’s consent or approval to work. And once I didn’t want to get the jobs, the jobs started wanting me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t suddenly Helen Mirren or anything; I was just able to book a hooker role without auditioning for it.
It’s such a stupid business. It’s hard for people who aren’t in it to fully believe, but casting can boil down to a vibe, a look, or even just how many instagram followers you have. I spent years thinking that if I did the best job, I'd get the part, when instead I should have been focusing on just being the best version of myself. I didn't pursue it because every role required it, but because it was the sole aspect that set me apart. As an actor, you are your competitive edge.
It’s like dating. Once I stopped being desperate for attention, I started receiving it.
When I was in my twenties, I used to say, “I can’t wait to be dead, because then I won’t have to be an actress anymore.” I wasn’t suicidal. But I really believed that.
I wish I could go back and offer that young girl comfort. I wish I could pull her fist out of her throat and stop her from purging in the LA Fitness parking lot. I wish I could assure her that the rejection wasn’t personal and that eventually it would be the catalyst for her changing her life. I didn't start writing because I felt like I could. I started writing because, if I didn't, I was going to go insane. I had to experience the anger in order to take action. The pain was my motivation for moving into my second act.
Maybe I’m being too liberal by defining forty-five as my second act. Maybe I’m closer to my third. Whatever it is, I’m just grateful to be here.
I work again on Friday. It’s going to be at least a twelve-hour day. By hour four, I’ll probably start to internally freak out as I find myself ensnarred in a six-page scene with seven principals who need coverage and fifty-two extras who want SAG waivers. I will be dreaming of waking up the next morning with nothing to do but play with my children, remove my fake eyelashes, and guzzle cold brews. But I’ll also enjoy the fuck out of playing “Liz Hittler,” “two ts, no relation," in a movie written by the incomparable Jill Kargman. This isn't a job that is going to define me, make me, or break me as a person. It’s just something fun to do. And at this point in my journey, that's all I want to be.
