"You have to believe you’re good enough. You’re really talented. Truly talented. Everyone you go in for becomes a big fan. But you need to believe that you deserve it. You need to go into those rooms and believe that you deserve that part.”
I nod. I feel like crying and I don’t know why.
“I do believe. I do think I deserve it.”
“Probably not. Not enough. Otherwise you’d be booking.”
“Right. You’re right.”
I want to tell him that I feel like an impostor, sitting here, acting like I have a say. What I have is given and it can be taken away. I don’t own it. It owns me. Even in the good times, I knew it was fleeting.
The possibility is what hurts. I sit under it’s shadow, weighted in darkness. I will it closer, invite it back inside, ask it to take pity on me.
“Your auditions aren’t what they used to be. You’ll get it back. You just have to believe you will.”
People talk a lot about belief here, positive thinking, manifesting your destiny. I wonder if things are that simple, that my problems are of my creation. That one thought can swim into the ether and by chance or by luck, crack the universe and change things.
It just seems a little straight-forward to me.
“Maybe you should get a tan,” he tells my back as I’m walking out of his office.
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