I guess I’m back…
When I was younger, I wasn’t naturally the best at anything but I deeply, deeply wanted everyone to believe that I was. Don’t get me wrong, I was usually top 3 but I was rarely ever #1. In elementary and middle school, I was top 2 and in high school I was top 3. And that should’ve been good, that should’ve made me happy knowing I was a top student… but all I internalized was that there was always someone else just a little bit better than me.
It didn’t help that usually my parents kind of used this against me, as a way to make me try harder and make more competitive. On one hand, I’m thankful they pushed me. There were a lot of imagined limits that felt really good to break through, to even surprise myself. But, on the other hand, I wish they’d also taught how to be happy with good enough. With second or even third best.
Since I was about seven years old, I’ve wanted to be the best and nothing, absolutely nothing else, has mattered to me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how this (highly toxic) mentality has blurred my perception of my writing career. It’s been hard to believe I even still have a career when I’m not constantly winning or getting awards. And I know that’s not why any of us do this but it is still really hard to turn that part of my brain off. I think a lot about what’ll happen when theatre’s had enough of my shit and I’m not getting produced at all anymore. What’ll happen when someone new and smarter and a lot more clever than me shows up?
It’s a gross way of thinking. And of course my answer is “I’ll make space for them” because there should be a lot more spaces for a lot of different kinds of people in theatre. And I know I can always self-produce. I know that I can always find value in my work and that someone somewhere will also find value in it too. And I know despite all of that, I’m lucky to be on the lists that I am and that there are playwrights out there who would love to be where I’m at. I know that I’ve done okay-ish and should be grateful. I know that someone will read this and say “Rachel’s whining again about being sucessful” and I know that they’ll never really get it. I know that there’s more to being a writer than…all of this. I know all the things I’m supposed to say and think and feel…
But when I’m depressed, deep down in my bones, I also still feel like I failed. Like I’m failing. And none of the “I knows” really seem to be all that convincing.
When I get to this place, I don’t know how to get rid of the icky feeling. I was on social media recently wasting time because I’m running out of things to do at work that are urgent and it’s nice to have some time to chill and I noticed everyone was celebrating something I was spiraling about: Being a semifinalist. I could feel the joy and pride other people felt as they posted and wondered What the hell is wrong with me? I saw the email and immediately wondered if I had any whiskey at home.
And I know that makes me an asshole but I can’t help that’s how I felt in the moment.
It’s led me to wonder what happens when you don’t want to be grateful for scraps anymore? What happens when almost isn’t enough anymore? Do you just burn those bridges by saying out loud “This kind of sucks.” And why can’t I be upset about something without having to always, always, always consider how lucky I am.
It feels like a con.
Not that I had the best childhood but it reminds of when my parents would tell me I should be thankful I get to live in their house. Like shouldn’t there be room for grief, for disappointment, for heartbreak…Don’t we get to have a moment to say “To be in this career means to break apart and put yourself back together for an eternity.”
There’s a part of me that knows I need to work on not wanting to be the best at everything. To learn to have gratitude for what I have. But there’s also a part of me that wants to scream as loud as I can for as long as I can because I’m pushing 35 with not much to show for it.
How do we balance our ambitions with our disappointments?
An old therapist told me once that I had to find a new way to define success because wanting to be the best at everything was going to destroy me. I needed to find a way to give more weight to my achievements and less weight to my failures. I asked her then if that was just gaslighting myself and she said “Kind of.”
I love writing plays. I couldn’t stop even if I tried but I really need to figure out a way to have a different relationship with my career. Because I’m tired. I’m tired of ending up on the cutting room floor. And I just still haven’t yet figured out what that different relationship looks like.