Writing this on the
airplane home because, as it turns out, it isn’t as easy to craft a blog post
with my nephew asking me to play cards at every waking hour as one might
think.
It was a good trip to
my Kentucky home.
Lots of forced rest.
Lots of home cooking
My belt is literally
tighter.
Throughout the trip
and the writing of this blog I have avoided the question:
Who do I want to be?
I’ve got a ton of
stuff about who I am and what I’m afraid of and why.
I could write a book
about my weaknesses.
But what good is
point A if I don’t have a point B that I want to get to?
So I’m asking:
Who do I want to be?
I’ve got an idea. A
blurry picture.
Blurry because giving
it a real outline is scary AF.
That girl is
intimidating.
Like, take a chill pill
you’re making everyone else look bad.
She’s kind. And
loving. She is so full of joy and passion and she works to make those things
count every day. She isn’t afraid of her sadness. Or her anger. (I literally
just watched Inside Out and sobbed at the relevance.) She isn’t afraid of her
fear. She loves herself so much that when you’re around her you love yourself.
She knows what she is worth and she doesn’t downplay her strengths. She USES
them. She doesn’t lay awake at night thinking of how she will fail tomorrow or
what she missed out on today. She is sunshine and pixie dust and thunder storms
and the bottom of the ocean.
Becoming this person means making mistakes. I hate that. Making mistakes. I hate it so much that
both my therapist and improv coach have told me that in order to get better I
have to make more mistakes.
Funny thing is that I
make more mistakes in fear of making mistakes than I would if I didn’t worry
about making mistakes.
Follow?
I don’t really make
New Years resolutions. They don’t really stick.
However I do
participate in the ‘naming of my years’ dealio.
2015 was the Year of
Fire. I can explain that some other time.
I’m calling 2016 The
Year of Fucking Up.
I thought about calling
it The Year of Mistakes but it seems like a mistake to use ‘the f word’ so it’s
going to be The Year of Fucking Up.
Get ready to do some
shitty improv scenes. Prepare yourselves to read terrible scripts and watch
even worse sketches. If you think my comment on instagram was stupid: meant to.
And oooooowweeeeee I am ready to embarrass myself in front of some hotties and casting directors.
Ya’ll ready for this?
*cue space jam
credits*
