Last month I got promoted from assistant to (drum roll) ... slightly better assistant! This time I get to be in the room with the writers as they work on a (hopefully) hit TV show. I'm so close I can taste it. I was thrilled with the position change, knowing that this was the very last step until the job I've been working toward. It was perfect, except for one thing. I don't get to visit home this summer.
When I was 10 years old I attended Norwegian Camp. It was your basic, week-long summer camp — set on a big lake, boasting activities like canoeing, fishing, campfires and speaking only in Norwegian. What's that? Yes, I did say speaking only in Norwegian — a language of which I didn't know a single word. Other than "uff dah."
Lately I've been thinking about all the years I spent pursuing acting. All the money and time I invested in that dream. And how one day, after a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy bills, I just stopped. I woke up and made the decision to leave all of that work behind for something new — something I wanted more. Sometimes it's hard to think about those years because I start to wonder what they were all for. Did I leave my family and friends and move across the country for nothing? Did I work countless dead-end jobs for a dream that I was just going to give up?
Lately I've been thinking a lot about the future. Maybe it's because Jason and I have talked about having kids. Maybe it's because I'm starting to see my career path more clearly. Probably it's because I saw a woman urinating on the sidewalk while I was walking to a restaurant last night and all I could think was, "Is this where I want to live forever?!"
I've been in LA for almost eight years and I'm still technically an assistant. I can see my Depression-era grandma rolling her eyes and telling me to be thankful to...
I can be a workaholic. Last week, my job assisting TV writers was especially busy. I was getting home around 10 p.m. each night only to open my laptop and work on my own writing projects. Some people call it "being in the zone" — my husband calls it "being terrified to interrupt me because I might yell at him." Either way, I have a hard time letting go of work.
A year ago I got married. Through the months, many people have asked me, their eyes gushing with good intention, "Don't you just love being married?"
I'm not pregnant. In case you were wondering.
I apologize too much. Recently, a man came out of a coffee shop, texting while he walked, and slammed his shoulder into mine. "Sorry," I said. He didn't say anything.
I've always been sentimental. Even as a kid, I was thinking about preserving special moments. When I was 12, my friend Jenny and I buried a time capsule in my backyard. We filled it with friendship bracelets, tapes of us talking and singing, and photos of us in matching jean overalls. We even hid a map in my house titled "A Map to the Greatest Treasure You Will Ever Find: Friendship." Jenny — if you're reading this — we should go dig that thing up. I'm getting emotional just thinking about it.