To Be a Child Again

I hate writing thank-you cards.

I've been pushing off writing a bunch of Whitworth professors for weeks, knowing that I'd fall apart as soon as I did.  And I did.  I got through two cards, one of them to Marc, and totally lost it.  This sort of thing is hard for me because somewhere in my subconscious, writing a goodbye makes for a much more solid closure than just saying it.

I'm terrified.  I want so much to have good things to say to everyone in the fall.  I want to go to the fall musical and the Christmas concerts feeling like I have something to show for myself, and I'm afraid I won't.  At the end of the day, I feel paralyzed by my fear.  Fear of failure, of self-sabotage, of mediocrity.  At Whitworth, things are safe.  I feel loved and capable and supported.  Being removed from that, it's hard to reassure myself that these things are all still true, despite the fact that I don't hear it and see it on a day-to-day basis.  Life is much less predictable, and I have to make everything happen on my own.

The pressure I'm feeling at home to do all the right things in the right order and at the right time to make my dreams come true! is near-suffocating.  Is it possible to be loved too much?  Because Mom and Dad don't seem to be okay with me pounding the pavement and working hard and--God forbid!--maybe moving back to Seattle in the fall.  Most of the auditions in New York are Equity, meaning I have to have my AEA card to even be seen... I think Seattle is the better bet.  For now, at least.

But maybe I'm freaking out about nothing.  Maybe this summer will prove me wrong.  Regardless, I just want to get the hell out of dodge.  I can't breathe here, and I have too much time to think about how scary life actually is as a grown-up.  Can't I just be five years old again?