Go Joe!

My little cousin Joe (I say little but he's like...what, 21 now?) is embarking on his quarter life crisis. He sees an amorphous view of a future he's not sure he wants.  He thinks about things he might want to do but feels unable to go for it because "it's too late" and he "doesn't know where to start." Sound familiar?  We've all been there.  That kept me away from New York for so long.  It kept me away from filmmaking for so long.  From pursuing all my goals and hopes and dreams for myself.  It still does. Nary a day goes by that I don't feel daunted by those two doubts in regards to my career, and I've already passed them by!

I mentioned to Joe that I happened to meet with a nice Gestalt therapist in New Orleans who gave me the very simple assignment of writing down the things I want to be.  Put it on paper.  Make a list, a chart, whatever, just do it.

It wound up looking kind of like one of those brainstorm things my teachers always made us do in writing classes.  I used to hate those. I used to just write.  Call me a convert though, because it worked for me! Just simply putting down on paper the things I wanted for myself made me able to create a plan to get where I wanted to be.


Now, my feet set firmly in the direction I need to go to reach my primary goals (being a healthy and fit assistant director who lives in New York City and maintains successful, mutually supportive relationships with friends and family) I find myself wondering about filling in the cracks.  Where does dance fit in? I love it and I want it in my life.  How about Manhattan? Let's not kid ourselves, Brooklyn is nice for now but I want to live in Manhattan.  And I'd like to lose the roommates sooner rather than later.  What about love?  I find myself examining my nascent relationship and getting ahead of myself. What do I really want with Columbia? I mean, I know what my ideal is, but I like taking it a day at a time once a week.

Like I told Joe, it takes a lot of hard work to be who you want to be (and indeed to figure out who that is).

Giant. I said it's GIANT.

So let's talk about the rather large tattoo I got.

I didn't really say anything to people whose opinions I care about, for the most part. Like, for instance, I didn't tell my Mom or my sister (!). I didn't mention it to my aunts or cousins last weekend. I didn't mention it to Cheshire Cat on Sunday, I really did not say anything at work to The President, no notice to Banana Payroll, no mention of it to Redheaded Stepsister.

I DID tell:

A) those whose opinions I care about but who also definitely wouldn't judge me, like Thinky Face and Fancypants and all the Squirrel girls (who mostly have tattoos and some of them very large). I told KTO in Ohio. I may have told Southern Belle in passing. I told the Starlet and Heartwarmer, mostly because they live with me and were probably going to notice one way or another.

B) people whose opinions I couldn't give a damn about. I showed a bunch of people at work who I just met (but have been cautious to avoid the Pres and the cute art director). I told everyone about it at Otto's last Friday, and some of those are people who irritate me on their good days - most of them I don't even really know very well. Since I got it I've been yammering about it nonstop to bank tellers and people on the subway and friends from long ago who I IM out of nowhere just so I can blabber on about my awesome tattoo (not a true story, but I'm considering doing that now so I can make it true, because it's funny).

Okay, now why?