Lessons From Audrey Hepburn

I just finished a biography of Audrey Hepburn and overall it was a delight. I've never been a huge fan of hers but I stumbled across an old interview on YouTube recently.

She was near the end of her life and had granted Barbara Walters a rare conversation on camera, and something about her presence and her answers felt familiar. It was like we were the same person in some way or had lived something of the same life. I knew her. Or I knew how she felt. If she hadn't died in 1993 I might have thought maybe I was her if I'd existed here before.

So I ordered the book.

It turns out she was, in fact, just like me. She was a multifaceted human being with a range of emotions who loved animals, was rather easily bruised, and dreamed of having a garden. And also like me, her life was a constant grasping at happiness amidst a deluge of misfortunes, heartaches and childhood scars. I don't think she ever quite got there and I'm not sure I ever will either.

I was struck by something she was quoted as saying toward the end of the book. And this was that even at her age (60 years old), she still suffered from an extraordinary case of stage fright anytime she had to perform or make a speech. She also said that she was not alone in this nervousness and that every real artist she'd worked with seemed to have his or her own version of it.

Gary Cooper's hands used to sweat while he acted. Cary Grant worried himself sick over his performances.

It made me feel like my recurring feelings of disgust about my work, my non-linear overall progress, and my almost constant feelings of inadequacy aren't so abnormal after all. Maybe nerves are universal. Maybe they're just part of the deal if you want to be artistic in some way.

Last week I picked up my book manuscript and tried to continue writing. When I couldn't do that because it seemed like I didn't have anything else to say, I started editing it instead. Maybe, I thought, I'd simply reached the end.

I was plunking along and then quit in frustration. I wrote my last blog, then I think I cried a little bit, and then I pulled up my pants and started working on it again.

I'm only 28 pages into my editing and I've got a long way to go. I know that I will fight many negative feelings as I go through this process, and I know that I will probably want to give up on it again. In fact, I can almost predict that I'll throw my hands up in disgust and put it away for another few months before gathering enough courage to come back to it. This seems to be my pattern.

But the knowledge that what I'm feeling isn't unique or odd is nice. The knowledge that others have felt the way I feel and have still gone on to success is enormously helpful.

Thanks, Audrey, for the lesson.

I Tried To Write Something

I tried to write something after another long break and I failed miserably. I wrote about two pages and closed the document.

I'm frustrated. I'm deflated. I'm not feeling well.

What am I ever going to be?

I say that I want to be a writer but I just can't seem to be one. I say that I'm good at what I do and then I pull out my keyboard and tap out nonsense. I say that I can finish my book but then I read my essays and close my eyes in disdain.

Being a writer is a really hard thing to be. I mean, maybe it's not hard for everyone but it is hard for a large percentage. I suppose I know how to write the things I'm good at - the things I've practiced for over 14 years in the business world. But personal things? Things that matter to me?

I suck.

I'm sitting here at my keyboard because I'm at a loss as to what to do with myself and with my time. I've got a myriad of health problems that are dragging me down constantly and I've given up hope on the job I thought was mine for the having.

I don't want to say I'm a failure because I'm not, really. But sometimes I don't know what to call the feelings I have inside.

I long to do something more, something "better." And yet I just don't have the talent and I know it. So what comes next for me? What do I do besides sit here, a ball of disease and frustration, wondering which door is finally going to open?

I tried to write something and I failed. But I did write this.

Jitters

I have the jitters right now. I'm jittery because I'm waiting to do a phone interview with a hiring manager on Friday, for a position that would not only pay me well but that would allow me to be what I am - a writer.

The best thing about it is that they want someone who just wants to write all day long. Someone who is talented at this one thing above all else, but probably also someone who understands technology because it's an IT company.

That's me. That's me all over the place.

I'm hesitant to get too excited about things but I also don't have much else to grasp onto right now. So I'm tossing at night, I'm pacing during the day, I'm checking email and LinkedIn obsessively, I'm networking to try to find another way "in." It feels like when I used to get sucked into a social media vortex and to be honest I don't like it. And yet I'm not sure what to do about it.

At 2:00 a.m. last night I told my brain to shut up. To stop thinking. To stop mulling and scheming and worrying and hoping. Because none of that was going to make any difference and especially not in the middle of the night.

At 9:30 a.m. I was pacing, because I still hadn't heard back on whether or not I was going to get the interview. And I was a few minutes late to PT because I couldn't stop the magnetism of my computer screen.

At 3:00 p.m. I crashed out a bit, landing on the sofa but with my phone in hand, swiping and refreshing and reloading. Just in case.

As I've been obsessively trying to figure out how to make this job happen, it's felt like I'm on speed. I can't relax. I can't stop. And it's doing me no good to be this way.

I did do my meditation practice this morning and that's the most calm I've probably been all day long. But I can't live like this because if I get another rejection after spending days or weeks in this state, it's going to hit me harder than I can handle.

So yes, I'm jittery because I might get to be a paid writer after all. Not necessarily on my terms or doing anything romantic or noble, but at the same time, doing the thing that I do without having to backtrack into documentation. And isn't that romantic and noble in a way? To be able to use your skills in the world somehow, even if it seems insignificant? It means I'll be doing my part. I'll be putting into use my gifts.

It also means that I can do other things like hope for a house again. Buy some shirts without holes in them. Get a new comforter for the bed. Resume saving for retirement.

And all of this is really important, too.

I think I'll go soak in the bath and resume reading my Everyday Zen book to see if I can calm myself down for the next 36 hours. Practicing non-attachment is helpful, but it's not as easy as it sounds.