When I started my full-time job five years ago, I feel a part of me died to get here. (I know, so melodramatic). Because for a long time, I was obsessed with acting–it was a dream to be able to pursue, audition, study, rehearse, perform, procrastinate, produce, flub for it. But then other things got in the way — the need to support my folks (more emotionally and logistically than financially), the fact that I needed to pay something called rent, the plummeting production and script quality available to the off-off-Broadway garden variety actresses like myself, the gargantuan schlepp factor every struggling actor goes through (the day job, rehearsals late into the night, bringing set pieces onto a rushhour subway car–NOT a good scene). So it seemed time to let it go.
As luck would have it, I ran into an actor neighbor the day I had to give an answer to this job, and he completely sympathized.
“Oh yeah, I’m on Star Trek now, but I’m constantly thinking about what’s worth giving up the dream for? I keep thinking maybe adopting a child could replace my dream of acting. But you know, you can take this job and you can always come back to acting later if you still feel the pull.”
Which was a perfect send-off to an office existence, and mostly, this day job has been just fine. I enjoy making enough money to go out to dinner and join a gym, and all those perks. I do feel I made the right decision, now only acting on occasion, writing more, but then once in a while, as I rush around to catch an a.m. subway to get to my middle management gig (I’m perpetually late) I’ll get a pang, missing my old life, wondering if I chose wisely.