Pick up pick up. Pick up pick up pick up pick up pick up.

Yesterday was my last day at my restaurant job. 

I had been there for three and a half years, and it was time to go. I was scared - money, stability, yadda yadda blah, but with some final pushing from my partner (who I met at said restaurant - definitely the best part) and from my little brother, I finally gave notice. Gulp. "What's next?" was a question I had (have) no answer to.

Over the course of my last couple of shifts, some of my favorite customers came in and we connected, swapped cards, followed each other on Instagram. One guy led with "Hey, I saw you on a commercial in a bar the other night!" I got nothing but support, and it felt meaningful that many of the people I had enjoyed most were coming through the door. It felt like a universal high-five about a decision rightly made.

And then, this morning, I won tickets on KCRW to see the band Kinky. Here is the song that inspired this blog post title - the chorus is the badass bass player Cesar saying "Pick up pick up, pick up pick up pick up pick up."

AND THEN. I saw THIS:

That would be the pilot I shot in June. Picked up to series. Announced in Variety.

I quite my day job YESTERDAY you guys.

Now, a dose of realism to go along with the excitement - my role was a co-star, with no guarantee of returning. But I spent three days with them and it was oh so much fun. Worst case scenario, I'll be happy to have the IMDb credit at bare minimum, if I don't make it into the pilot edit. The whole team was fantastic and I will forever be happy to have been involved. 

This is just to say - yesterday I tweeted this:

Flying high, friends, full of high-fives. Grateful, happy, excited, and forever a proponent of quitting your job.

Plus I have a date to a concert next Friday night.

I have been asleep.

Somewhere along the way, I think I can trace back each little thread leading to the unraveling, I succumbed to bitterness. I allowed myself to let go of hope; I misplaced the faith that another great thing would (WILL) come; I let the losses of my personal life overwhelm me; I allowed the depression that weaves itself through my timeline, popping up every few years like a familiar enemy, to take hold. I lost myself. I stopped being an artist. I stopped creating. I was miserable.

I am waking up.

This shadowy place has been full of so much beauty – and that is what has lifted me up and carried me along. A new partner, new friends, reconnecting with old friends, time with my family, NEW family – I became an aunt!  My boyfriend has two wonderful children! – beautiful and rich new life experiences. I have been okay, just okay, absolutely okay. But I haven’t been my full self.

I am an artist, a creator, a thinker, a feeler, incontrovertibly. I cannot put those things away. When I do put them away, I turn gray and wither, or balloon, into a sad and angry shadow of myself: bigger, flatter, darker, duller.

I struggle to be open, to connect, to allow myself to be vulnerable, to allow myself to be myself. I struggle with fear. I struggle with self-acceptance. I fear that I will fail, and the person I am most afraid of disappointing is myself.

I share with you this cracking open feeling in my chest, these tears hitting my keypad,  because I am afraid to share it, because I want to share it, because I need to share it.

My apologies to you – I haven’t been my best. I haven’t been participating. I probably haven’t called you back. I let my little flame grow very small. I forgot how much I like to use metaphors. But I am here. I am back. I am still here. I never left. And I stay.