"you're an actor?"

I've worked at this law firm for five years now. It's way too long, and I'm definitely starting to feel the strain. But I've been a fairly integral part of the Intellectual Property department now for half a decade, supporting almost half of its partners. And this morning, one of the litigators (who I don't work for) came by my desk while I was discussing the reading I was in last night, saying, "well, I do readings mainly just to remind myself that I'm an actor." And this litigator turned to me and said, "You're an actor?" as if I had just said I was an alien with advanced knowledge of physics and a fleet of Mercedes that I park on the street in Brooklyn. I said, "Yes. I always have been." And he said, "How would I know? You look like a normal person to me."

Awesome.

I've been thinking a lot lately about Acting (yes, capital A Acting). About why I do it. About whether or not what I love about it outweighs what I hate about it. About whether, should I miraculously find myself with the perfect career, I would even like the lifestyle.

I know that art (and, as such, theatre) matters in the world (and New York in particular), but does not-getting-the-chance-to-act really have an impact on society? It's an odd look at the "does art matter" question; it's "does what I do even count as art, and therefore does it matter" question. And I'm not asking from a personal perspective. I know what I do matters to me, my friends and family (and probably my plants). I'm wondering if the thousands of us out there (and there are thousands of us) looking for acting work, waiting tables and answering phones... does what we do really change the lives of anyone else?

Being a legal secretary (which is what I've done for the last six or so years), while it matters to the four people I work for, and the firm as a whole, doesn't have much direct impact on society. Sure, I'm not a burden on society; I pay my taxes, I pay my rent, I even give money to the NYPL. I am merely one of the millions of cogs in the machine that makes up Corporate New York. But that's not what I set out to do. I came here to move people. To touch them. To inspire them and tell them stories. I came here to create something. And all I seem to be creating of late are fedex slips and photocopies.

Has the time come to move on? It's a heartbreaking question, and not one that any actor ever takes lightly. It's like contemplating leaving a boyfriend who's held onto you for years, but only sporadically ever told you he loves you. I've defined myself as an actor since second grade (when I played Alice in Alice in Wonderland and mispronounced the word "deny" because I had never seen it in print before and was so mortified I still remember it over 20 years later), and am petrified to think of how I would define myself without it.

Which might be exactly why it's time to move on.

Luckily, the question of moving on is not one I view in terms of "selling out." I see nothing wrong with leaving a situation if it makes you miserable. My friend Lisa finally realized (a few years ago) that she hated auditioning so much that the process was no longer worth it to her. And while I miss seeing her act, I respect her decision immensely. And have never once thought she sold out. In fact, I still consider her enormously brave.

I have, however, worried about the damage I would do to myself by viewing my departure from acting as "quitting." I hate (HATE) those people who wax poetic about their years as an actor, and how great they would have been... if only... if only. And I know part of me would feel that way. I am an exceptional actor. I have the skills, the passion, the dedication, the dues paid, the groundwork, all of it. But I'm still not acting. And truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep rolling this boulder uphill.

My other problem (ah, were it my only other problem) is that I can't, for the life of me, think of something else I want to do. I know there are a lot of jobs I could do, that I am qualified for and smart enough for, but honestly, very few of them even appeal to me. And the real danger is that I make enough money at the law firm that taking an entry level position somewhere might actually mean taking a pay cut. At thirty. Making less in the real world than I did as an actor.

Hmmmmmm.

Anyway, it's not a done deal, it's just something I've been thinking a lot about lately. Things change when you turn thirty, and I'm just 17 days away from it. Someone said to me recently, while discussing approaches to relationships, "I'm not 25 anymore," and that threw me. Because I think part of me still sees myself that way. And maybe now's a time to move on from that.
I'm not sure. I do know, however, that something's got to change. I'm just not sure what.