Identity crisis...

Some people think that being an actor is really cool. Myself included. In what other job do you get to dress up in different clothes and pretend to be someone else for a while and nobody judges you? I'm not going to lie, getting paid to do it is also a perk! 

I was working today (sadly not acting) and I was pondering life (as I so often do) and was wondering if I'm actually the person that I want to be. 

I probably had these thoughts due to an upcoming birthday that means my age will begin with a 3 rather than a lovely 2, but I think some it comes from observation.

I tend to people watch quite a bit, mainly to see if I can pick up on any mannerisms people might have, or interesting characteristics that I can use in my acting/writing work.

In the acting game you have to be realistic. I know what I look like. If I see a casting for 'beautiful female' I don't apply. This isn't a cry for attention, I know that I'm far from being the prettiest, skinniest, cleverest girl out there, it's fact. I'm never going to get cast as the stunning female lead opposite my future husband, Ewan McGregor, I'll just be the frumpy sister, but hey, someone's got to do it!

But I can't change my face. Well, I could, but I'd need a bucket load of cash, probably given to me by a millionaire husband that I'm not pretty enough to attract, and so the circle goes on.

I digress...

I did some people watching whilst at work and in town today. (I observed people from behind my sunglasses, I didn't want people to think I was staring!) I went about my business thinking about who I am and what I was doing, and what I could do to change.

A colleague at work over the weekend had asked me how I was getting on with my search for happiness (see previous post) and I had to admit that my search had stopped. And I had annoyed myself. I did really well for the month of March, then as soon as April rolled around I fell back into my bad habit ways and ended up not going on at least three social events that I had had planned for a while. I let myself get swamped with work again and I was really angry with myself.

As I was walking around town, I began to wonder what people would think of me if they did the same as me and people watched me. I know I shouldn't, but I do make assumptions about people from what I see, and the thought of someone doing the same to me made me think.

There I was, a 29 year old woman, walking around in tartan trousers, sipping a mint chocolate milkshake, and getting excited about going to see S Club 7 on tour in a months time. Am I weird?

All the cool kids are walking around with perfect fashion sense, clutching their Costa coffees, have impeccable makeup, and seemingly perfect lives. 

I work every day under the sun and constantly look like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards because I don't have time to look in a mirror.

What if I want to be the cool 60 year old woman with pink hair who listens to opera all day? Why do I find coffee so revolting? Why do I always have to be the one whose friends steal their phone and text boys on it trying to get me a date because I'm too tragic to sort out a love life on my own?

I wandered about for a bit wondering how I could change my life around to start being one of the cool people. Sometimes you don't want to be the clown any more. Sometimes you just want to be taken seriously.

I got home and sat in the sunshine in the garden and began making props for my show and slowly things seeped into my head about what some very lovely people have said to me recently.

I teach a lot of children, and some parents tell me how much their children love my lessons. I've had messages from them telling me how I inspire them, how much they look up to me, and how they want to be like me when they grow up. And that's pretty awesome.

Most of the kids that I teach don't know anything about me. They don't care that the smell of coffee being brewed makes me want to throw up, they don't know about all of the other jobs that I do, they don't care that I'm single, fighting with my weight, or that I have truly terrible hair right now. They care that I care about them, and making them into amazing little actors. 

And that's how it should be. Every time I receive one of those messages from a parent it makes me cry. Because life is cruel, and people aren't nice, and when you get that message, sometimes that's the nicest thing that has happened to you in a very long while, and it's nice to be appreciated.

So who cares if I drink milkshakes instead of vile coffees? Who cares that I'm going to see one of the greatest pop bands of all time in a few weeks? Who cares that I'm squidgy and average looking and can't control my hair most days? I don't care. I'm actually doing alright. And if kids can look up to me, being the crazy nut job that I am, then that's amazing. Because I shouldn't follow the pack, I am who I am and if you don't like it you can stick it!

Here's to the underdogs.

Nxxx