And just like that, I’m pulled back in.

When I first started writing this blog, it was with the hope that I could examine my relationship with my art- as opposed to my relationship with my career. Because they often felt like two different things. To be honest, this is a question I’ve been chewing on for many, many years. Nothing new. But in moving up here; in finding a new purpose and new ways to express my creativity, I assumed (naively), that I was done pursuing my art at a professional level. I would be grateful, sure, when opportunities came my way, but wouldn’t seek them out. Because the seeking them out was what had started to drive me a little off the rails in the first place. I felt a little broken. Broken heart, broken bank account, broken self image. And when I broke with the pursuit of success, I felt healthier. As if I’d ended a long term, tumultuous relationship and came out on the other side feeling proud of my self-care.

We had friends over for dinner the other night- the first real friends we’ve made in this new town. And we were talking about all the art that’s opening up in the area: choirs, jazz clubs, and regional theaters with Broadway-level productions, and first thing next morning I started researching. Who should I contact to audition? And as I was gathering the materials to attach to these emails, I started feeling a ball of anxiety in my stomach. Did my headshot and resume represent me enough? How would it look if there were all these gaps in my employment? I tried to refrain from including the caveats of, “It’s been a tough year,” or “I’m in a transition,” or “I have more media available than what my resume reflects.” I had to stop everything and have a good cry and try to process just what was going on. I think the truth is, it’s scary to want something. Even scarier to want something you’ve wanted for a long time, then take a step back from, only to realize that you still want it.

I hope that this time of Covid has given everyone- myself included- healthier ways of interacting with things: career, people, habits. And I’m hoping that I’ll find a way to have a healthier relationship with my desires. Isn’t there a Buddhist teaching that desire is the root of all suffering? And it’s not so much the desire but the attaining of the desire that creates the suffering? I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to suffer for the sake of art, or just for the sake of suffering. But I also don’t want to deny myself something that could be very fulfilling. And- dare I say it- also has a feeling of destiny?

I have sent the email, by the way. I’ve set a challenge to keep my self-doubt in check, and to not read into the lack of responses (yet). I’m going to feel this out, one day at a time, and follow up with these venues if that feels ok to me in a week or two. A few of my friends are not at all surprised that this happened, by the way. They *knew* theater wasn’t done with me, and maybe they’re right. There have been some external nudges from the universe as well and maybe I should listen to those clues. I was in a weekend of Wendy Wasserstein readings at Guild Hall in East Hampton a few weeks ago, and will be going back there in July for an evening of Tom Wolfe. And just the other day I took Amtrak to a NYC studio to join 12 other actors, a director, producer, and writer, as we read through a new musical in progress. Going to the studios where I’ve had so many auditions over the past 20 years was of course very familiar, but had the tinge of something new. I think I stepped off that elevator with gratitude for getting to act and then getting to take myself home to my beautiful life. And leaving it at that. *This is something I’m working to apply to other areas of my life, actually: living in the moment. I never used to understand what that meant, which explains why I struggled with anxiety and depression for years. I still do struggle (thanks for the setback, Covid), but the moments of stillness while I’m watering my herbs or lying in the hammock with my husband or listening to jazz on the porch swing, do help to slow my mind and root me in something like grace.

There’s a big part of me that wants to talk to Joanna in her 20s and even early 30s. To tell her that her little piece of nature was waiting for her, and that she’d feel whole and safe and proud once she was there. I wish the pursuit of my art (or do I mean, “career?”), had brought me that, but it didn’t. I don’t regret those years in the city, pouring everything I had, and then just a little bit more, into this one dream. But the thing I’m realizing is that dreams change. Or maybe it’s that I had other dreams I didn’t know were there. I’m grateful- so grateful- that my life has taken the turn it has. That I met a man who sat with me while I cried and fretted over my journey, and then helped to shape this new path that feels so very right (even if I don’t know where it’s leading yet). Perhaps younger Joanna needed those years of uncertainty and unfulfillment to fully appreciate this man when he came along. And ignited a fierce need to feed my soul, not my instagram account or my agent’s checklist.

So I think you maybe see why I’m frightened. I don’t want to lose the ground I’ve fought so hard to win. I really don’t want to see myself through the critical lens that nearly broke me before. But the conundrum is… I don’t want to give up the stage.

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On the home front, life moves on. I continue to be awed by the flowers; mostly because as one set of blooms die, the ones next to them spring to life. My husband compared it to an orchestra, the colors fading and swelling across the gardens, giving each plant its solo. Right now we’re having a yellow moment. The daylilies which were slightly unimpressive tufts of green a few weeks ago are now vibrantly trumpeting their tone. And the white daisies have made way for orange and yellow-tinged ones instead. And of course, we also have the little pale yellow tomato flowers (yes, the vegetables did seem to bounce back from the hail storm 2 weeks ago). The weather has been pretty glorious, actually. Mid 70s and sunny with a few days of rain here and there, which relieves us of watering duty.

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I’ve also started harvesting the black raspberries (which were not planted intentionally but volunteered themselves to our garden), and may attempt making some jam this week. Botulism aside, what could go wrong? We’ve almost cleared out our kale, radishes, and scallions, but we’ve had some delicious salads these past few weeks. Between the CSA from a farm up the road and our own herbs and “accessories,” we’ve been eating really well. It’s so true that the fresher the food, the tastier it is. The sugar snap peas are like CANDY, the apple mint makes its way into my smoothies and cocktails, and we have a steady supply of basil and parsley pesto. I might lose my mind when we start eating our own cucumber and tomato salads.

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The ducks are getting their share, too! Actually, a few of the things we planted were with them in mind. Herbs are really good for their overall health, so I usually throw a handful of mint or basil into their water. They’re wary of new food but are starting to get the knack of eating the black raspberries and I’ll probably share a few blueberries with them when they’re ripe. The girls are also crazy for what we call “pool salad,” which is chopped up lettuces or cabbage we get in our CSA. I hate letting anything go to waste, so this is a great way to make sure everything gets used. It’s also slightly self-serving, since all of these delicious, organic snacks will just make their eggs taste that much better!

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In closing, it occurs to me that we moved in SIX MONTHS ago today! If this doesn’t turn out to be the best decision of my life, then that just means more amazing things are coming.