So we finally watched Frozen for the first time last weekend. I know, I know – we’re so far behind the boat we haven’t even got in the car to drive to the wharf yet. My oldest little miss is highly sensitive to shame and regret and really doesn’t deal well when people are about to do something that will get them into trouble, so I wasn’t confident she could get through it until now. As it was, she had to leave the room a few times when it was getting too intense and begged us to turn it off during the blizzard just before the big climax.
She did make it through, though, and has asked to see it at least once every day since then.
This does not bother me in the slightest.
I’d happily sit down and obsessively watch it with her on endless repeat all day every day if I didn’t also have a toddler to tend to. This movie, with its strong musical theatre overtones, has triggered a whole bunch of emotions and yearnings and memories in me that have lain dormant for some time now. I thought, in fact, that I had processed all this stuff and moved on already. I guess not.
I still want to be famous.
I still want to sing.
I still want to act.
I still kind of suck at all of these things.
Don’t get me wrong, if you grabbed a large random sample of people I’d definitely be up near the more talented end of the spectrum, but I definitely also lag quite far behind the people who actually end up getting anywhere as a performer.
I remember in a lesson once my teacher tried to give me a pep talk. “Look,” she said, “98% of what we do as professional performers is boring and tiring and hard. But that 2% of total inspiration and creative freedom is what carries you through!” My heart dropped. “Two percent?” I thought, “That’s really all you can give me? Two percent?”
That was when I realised I really didn’t have the right stuff. I’m not driven and passionate and talented enough to push through and make a name and a living out of performing.
But goddamnit! I just can’t accept the idea of living an inconsequential, everyday life. I still daydream that “one day” I’ll just somehow fall into fame and fortune (sometimes as a muso, sometimes as an actor, sometimes as a DJ, sometimes as a writer, sometimes as a politician…) without all the hard work of practicing and hustling and cultivating ambition and working my way up from ground zero that I need to do first. Whenever I try to talk my way out of this silliness and accept that it’s far more likely I’ll just have a pleasant, everyday kind of existence with a small sphere of influence on friends and family – and that’s totally OK! – I just end up horribly, horribly depressed.
But then, when I try to formulate a plan to reach for a loftier, more influential goal and really take in how much effort and energy that will need (and how much rebounding and rejection that will entail) I still just end up horribly, horribly depressed.
So here I sit, frozen in time, waiting for life to miraculously sort itself out one way or another while the days keep whizzing by…
I think I’ll put the movie on again.